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MEMORY'S  CASKET 


BY 


MRS.  LUCY  H.  WASHINGTON. 


BUFFALO 

CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 
1891 


Entered  in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington, 

BY  MRS.  LUCY  H.  WASHINGTON, 
in  the  year  1891.     All  rights  reserved. 


PRINTED  BY  C.  W.  MOULTON, 
BUFFALO,  N.  Y. 


WHEN  the  thoughts,  in  rhythmic  numbers. 

And  with  rocking  cadence  flow, 
Keeping  time  to  the  warm  throbbing 

Of  Life's  pendulum  below; 
Then  the  record  is  a  POEM, 

And  the  oft-recurring  rhyme, 
Marks  its  sections,  as  do  figures, 

On  the  dial-plate  of  Time, 

When  the  heart  breaks  forth  in  rapture, 

Free  as  flooding  light  of  noon, 
And  the  mind,  with  jeweled  lasso, 

Grasps  and  holds  the  glowing  tune; 
Gives  the  heart-born  captured  impulse 

Wings,  its  -mission  to  prolong, 
Bearing  love,  and  cheer,  and  solace, 

Then  the  record  is  a  SONG. 

When  the  spirit,  earth-environed, 

Seeks  the  infinite,  unknown, 
It  may  catch  but  dim  reflections 

From,  the  glories  of  God1  s  throne. 
Thus  the  words  we  blend  together, 

From  the  thoughts  that  sweetly  throng, 
Through  the  soul's  creative  temple, 

Are  but  ECHOES  OF  OUR  SONG. 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFATORY  NOTE. 


SOME  years  ago  a  volume  of  verse  entitled, 
ECHOES  OF  SONG,  by  Mrs.  Lucy  H.  Washington, 
was  issued  from  the  press,  and  the  edition  was  in  a 
short  time  exhausted. 

In  the  busy  life  of  the  author,  as  mother, 
pastor's  wife,  and  one  of  the  foremost  of  American 
women  in  the  temperance  reform  of  the  last  decade, 
little  time  has  been  found  for  strictly  literary  work. 
She  has,  however,  added  to  her  repertory  many 
poems  of  merit. 

At  the  suggestion  of  many  personal  friends  this 
volume  has  been  prepared,  embracing  selections 
from  ECHOES  OF  SONG  and  such  other  productions 
of  her  muse  as  have  found  expression  in  more 
recent  years. 


CONTENTS. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

PAGE 

Birthday  of  Freedom,  -       1 1 

Home  Again,  13 

The  Soldier's  Orphan,  -       16 

"Victory,"     -  17 

Our  Martyred  President,      -  -       18 

Our  Country,  20 

Burial  of  President  Garfield,  -       27 

EARLIER  POEMS. 

Christ  Upon  the  Waters,      -  29 

Light  and  Love,      -  31 

A  Song  of  Change,     -  -       33 

Angel  Listeners,      -  35 

Judson's  Grave,  -       36 

To  a  Brown  Thrush,  37 

Twilight,    -  38 

POEMS  OF  MY  CHILDREN. 

The  First  Born,       .     -  41 

Loaned,           -                  -  43 


Contents. 


PAGE 


Children's  Philosophy,         .         .  .       44 

Where  is  Heaven  ?  45 

Lucy  May,  .       45 

Joy  and  Sorrow,      -                  ...  43 

Baby's  Eyes,       -  -       5O 

My  Sleeping  Babes,                           -         -  51 

POEMS  OF  KINDRED. 

A  Lock  of  Silver  Hair  54 

My  Mother's  Last  Blessing,      -         -         -  56 

Nearing  the  River, 58 

Four  Score,    -                                    _         .  ^9 

SUNDAY-SCHOOL  SONGS. 

Work  to  Do  for  Jesus,                   ...  53 

Never  Forget,                                     -  65 

Seek  Jesus,                                      -         -  -       66 

POEMS  OF  TEMPERANCE. 

A  Foe  in  the  Land, 68 

"Look  Not  Upon  the  Wine,"          -         -  70 

Two  Tables  at  the  Banquet,          -         -  -       71 

Memorial  Tree,        -                  .         -         -  79 

Home  Guard  Member,  80 

The  Crusade,                    -         ...  83 


Contents. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

PAGE 

Similes,       -  -85 

Sing,  Robin,  Sing,  86 

Green  Lake,        -  87 

Broken  Clouds,        -  89 
Story  of  the  Letter  Carrier's  Old  Satchel,      -      90 

Falling  Leaves,        -  96 

The  Dying  Year,  -       97 

Old  Bachelor  and  Polly,  98 

Bumble  Bee  and  Clover,       -  -     102 

Dawn,    -  103 

Sunny  Hours,      -  -     104 

"Jack  Lightfoot,"  105 

Our  Father's  Care,      -  -     107 

Trailing  Arbutus,    -  108 

The  Olden  Time,  -     109 

Morning  in  the  Country,  112 

Jealousy,     -  -     114 

Reading,  117 

Thought  Pictures,  -     118 

A  Dream,       -  120 

A  Song  of  Sevens,      -  -     122 

Neighbor  and  I,       -  124 

Easter  Lilies,       -  -     126 

The  Eagle's  Nest,   -  127 


6  Contents. 

PAGE 

Compensations,  -  -     128 

Ante  and  Post  Mortem,    -  130 

THE  COURT  OF  THE  MUSES. 

A  COLLOQUY,  PREPARED  FOR  YOUNG  LADIES' 
ENTERTAINMENT. 

Nine  Muses,  -     133 

GUESTS — 

Spring,    -  135 

Summer,      -  -     136 

Autumn,  138 

Winter,  -     139 

Fame,      -  140 

Night,  -     142 

Morning,  143 

Naiad,  -     144 

Fashion,  145 

Dissipation,  -     148 

Temperance,    -  150 

Liberty,        -  -     152 


MEMORY'S  CASKET. 


I'VE  a  rare  and  precious  Casket, 
And  I  only,  hold  its  key; 
The  bright  treasures  it  encloses, 
Are  most  sacred  now  to  me; 
They  are  jewels  I  have  gathered, 

All  adown  the  fleeting  years; 
Some  were  polished  in  Life's  sunshine, 
Some  have  sparkled  through  its  tears. 

Each  was  laid  away,  enfolded 

In  sweet  lavender  of  thought; 
Each  is  held  within  the  setting, 

Faithful  memory  hath  wrought; 
And  the  rarest,  and  the  fairest, 

Of  this  fleeting  life  of  ours, 
I  have  treasured  in  my  Casket, 

With  some  withered  buds  and  flowers. 

Often  when  I  take  this  Casket, 

And  in  silence  turn  the  key, 
Then  a  mood,  most  sweetly  solemn, 

Soothingly,  comes  over  me; 
As  the  magic  lid  is  lifted, 

And  I  view  my  treasures  o'er, 
Each  one  seeming  fairer,  dearer, 

Than  it  e'er  had  been  before. 

Then  the  Present  seems  to  vanish, 

And  the  intervening  years 
Fade  away,  as  some  sweet  vision 

Of  the  LONG  AGO  appears; 


io  Mrmvj's  OukeL 


And  I  dasp  hands,  true  and  tender, 
That  I  ne'er  may  dasp  again, 


so  long  have  withered  been. 


high  Ideal, 

Leads  me,  m  enchanting  dream, 
Past  the  rugged  firing  Real, 

Things  that  are,  to  things  that  seem;; 
Strews  die  way  with  rare  exotics, 

Builds  me  castles,  grand  and  fair,  — 
All  suggested  by  the  jewels, 

Treasured  with  such  tender  care. 

Then  I  waken  to  Life's  duties, 

Take  up  all  my  toil  again; 
Yet  my  heart  is  strengthened,  gladdened, 

By  the  gentle  low  refrain, 
Coming  from  my  magic  Casket; 

Song  that  none  but  I  may  hear, 
Whispered  words  of  love,  and  solace, 

Breathexl  thoughts  of  hope  and  cheer. 


O!  it  is  a  precious 

And  I  only,  hold  die  key,— 
No  "Of,  while  food  mem'rv 

E'er  can  take  my  gems  from  me; 
I  alone  can  know  their  varae, 

With  what  matchless  grace  they  shine, 
I  alone  behold  their  beauty, 

Mme  they  are  and  only  mine. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 


BIRTHDAY  OF  FREEDOM. 

Cf  BY  THE  IMMORTAL  fXOCLAMATTD.V  Of 
OUR  MARTYRED  PRESIDENT. 


H 


AI  L  !  new  birthday  of  the  Nation* 

Of  the  gk>rious  proclamation; 
AH  our  fighting  was  in  vain. 
We  had  learned  the  lesson  slowly, 
That  we  must  become  mane  lowly, 
That  we  most  be  born  again. 

Born  all  free  from  vile  pollution 
Of  the  slave-bound  institution, 
Which  robs  labor  of  reward. 
Evil  that  hath  banished  kindness, 
Caused  secessio 


Roar  of  cannon,  dash  of  sword. 

All  in  vain  the  expiation, 

With  the  fresh  blood  of  the  Nation. 

AH  in  vain  oar  strength  and  might. 
We  had  seen  our  fete  impending; 
We  were  to  disruption  tending, 

Lest  we  battle  for  the  right. 


12  Poems  of  Patriotism. 

Since  the  mighty  words  were  spoken, 
' '  Every  bond  is  hereby  broken, 

And  our  Nation  shall  be  free," 
We,  with  heart  and  hand  united, 
And  with  faith  all  newly  plighted, 

Have  pressed  on  to  victory. 

Onward  still!  ye  brave  and  fearless, 
With  a  cause  no  longer  cheerless; 

Forward  march  and  firmly  stand, 
In  the  ranks  where  noble  brothers, 
Best  beloved  of  wives  and  mothers, 

Battle  for  their  native  land. 

Turn  not  back,  nor  yield,  nor  falter, 
If  upon  thy  Country's  altar, 

Thou  shouldst  perish  in  the  strife; 
Shrink  not,  let  the  Nation's  honor— - 
Freedom,  with  no  stain  upon  her, 

Be  more  precious  far  than  life. 

Glorious  birthday  of  the  Nation! 
Faithful,  fearless  proclamation! 

Weapon  forged  by  powerful  hand; 
Bravely  wielded  from  this  hour, 
It  shall  crush  with  mighty  power, 

Treason  throughout  all  the  land. 


Home  Again.  13 


HOME  AGAIN* 

"T  TOME  again!  "  with  thrilling  accent, 
1  1     Sprang  from  lips  the  magic  word; 

Quickening  every  pulse  and  heart  throb, 
Where  the  well-known  voice  was  heard. 

Home  from  war's  dark  scenes  of  conflict; 

Home  from  prison's  darker  gloom; — 
He  had  thought  ere  this  glad  moment, 

To  have  found  a  stranger's  tomb. 

Oh!  the  torture  of  those  hours, 
Burning  hunger,  thirst  and  pain; 

Yet  he  thinks  not  of  their  anguish, 
Now  that  he  is  Home  again. 

Joyous  Frank  and  gentle  Nellie, 

He  had  greeted  just  before; 
And  on  either  side  supported, 

Enters  now  the  open  door. 

Seeking  first,  her  best  beloved, 
Where  he  finds  a  glad  surprise, 

Beaming  from  each  radiant  feature, 
Glancing  from  those  up-turned  eyes. 

*  Suggested  by  the  beautiful  picture,  "Home  Again,"   painted  by 
TREVOR  McCLURG,  Esq.,  of  Pittsburgh,  Penn. 


14  Poems  of  Patriotism. 

Him,  the  idol  of  the  maiden; 

Dearest  treasure  of  the  wife; 
She  with  loyal  heart  had  yielded, 

For  the  Nation's  trembling  life. 

What  glad  tumult  fills  her  bosom ! 

Recompense  for  waiting  pain, 
For  the  land  she  loves  is  rescued, 

Whom  she  gave  is  Home  again. 

Mother,  name  scarce  less  endearing, 
Manifests  maternal  joy, 

As  she  stands  in  mute  thanksgiving, 
That  God  hath  restored  her  boy. 

Others  called  him  Captain,  Colonel, 
Even  General  though  he  be, 

She  but  sees  her  noble  Edward, 
Merry  boy  of  yesterday. 

Father  gravely  waits  a  greeting; 

Age  hath  silvered  o'er  his  hair, 
Else  he  too  had  joined  the  conflict; 

For  his  heart  had  followed  there. 

All  are  joyous  at  his  coming, 
'Tis  a  cheerful  happy  sight; 

Even  Carlo  bounding  forward 
Plainly  shows  a  dog's  delight. 


Home  Again.  15 

Only  one  is  shy  and  doubting, 

Little  prattling  Baby  May; 
She  has  learned  to  lisp  of  Papa, 

Yet  she  knows  him  not  to-day. 

Yes,  it  is  a  gladsome  picture, 

Yet  with  joy  it  giveth  pain, 
When  we  think  of  precious  thousands, 

Never  to  come  Home  again. 


God  protect  our  rescued  Country, 
From  her  foes,  where'er  they  stand, 

Whether  in  her  halls  of  council, 
Or  with  wielded  sword  in  hand. 

Let  the  blood  of  perished  heroes 
Wash  away  each  darkling  stain, 

And  the  glorious  light  of  Freedom, 
Never  be  obscured  again. 


1 6  Poems  of  Patriotism, 


THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHAN. 

"T  TAVE  you  any  money  mother?  " 
ll     Whispered  dying  Frankie  Ely; 

"  Who'll  take  care  of  baby  brother 
And  of  you;  but  Fred  and  I  ? 

"  Now  I'm  sick,  and  cannot  carry 

Daily  papers  any  more, 
Mother,  you  must  need  more  money, 

Surely  than  you  did  before. 

"Who'll  get  Eddie  a  warm  tippet, 
Who'll  get  Nellie  her  new  shoes, 

Since  I'm  sick,  and  cannot  carry 
Any  more  the  '  Daily  News '  ? 

' '  Father  made  us  such  nice  presents, 
'  Old  Chris '  sent  them  all,  he  said, 

But  you  know  he  never  sends  them, 
Since  dear  Father  has  been  dead. 

"  You  remember  when  he  'listed, 
Father  said,  if  he  should  die, 

We  must  care  for  you  and  baby, 
Be  brave  boys,  and  never  cry. 


"  Victory."  17 

"  When  he  talked,  as  he  was  dying, 

And  they  couldn't  understand, 
Don' t  you  think  he  said  that  '  Frankie 

Will  be  mother's  little  man  ? ' 

"  Don't  cry  mother;  when  I'm  better, 

I  will  help  you  all  the  more, 
And  we'll  have  a  Merry  Christmas, 

Just  as  we  have  had  before. ' ' 

But  the  little  Hero  brother, 

In  an  hour  had  passed  away; 
Heaven  help  the  stricken  Mother, 

And  the  rest,  on  Christmas  day. 


"  VICTORY." 

ALAS!  alas!  for  our  bleeding  land; 
There  is  sorrow  and  mourning  on  every  hand; 
For  all  our  grand  triumphs,  so  valiant  to  gain, 
Sad  tears  of  bereavement  are  falling  like  rain: 
O,  remember  each  fallen,  each  patriot  son, 
When  ye  shout  with  glad  voices, ' '  The  victory  won. ' ' 


1 8  Poems  of  Patriotism. 


OUR  MARTYRED  PRESIDENT* 

MOURN  for  the   Chief  of  the  Nation,    who 
perished 

By  the  assassin's  demoniac  hand; 
One  whom  we  had  chosen,  and  honored  and  cher- 
ished, 

Whose  blood  sealed  the  clasp  o'er  Columbia's 
land. 

PRAISE — for  oppression  is  banished  forever, 
Her  dark  reign  is  over  from  river  to  sea; 

In  truth  and  in  spirit,  as  now,  sang  we  never, 
"  Of  the  land  of  the  brave,  and  the  home  of  the 
free." 

Our  God,  who  in  wisdom  the  dark  strife  permitted, — 
Though  the  bow  was  obscured  in  the  midst  of 

the  storm; 

Now  war  clouds  are  broken,  and  vengeance  requited, 
Shows  the  wonders,   He  worketh,    His  will  to 
perform. 

Then  boast  not  of  conquest,  or  wisdom;  but  chided, 
In  contrite  submission  and  penitence  bowed, 


•Suggested  by  the  Dedication  of  the  NATIONAL  LINCOLN  MONUMENT, 
at  Springfield,  111.,  October  15,  1874. 


Our  Martyred  President.  19 

Give  thanks  to  the  Lord,  who  our  armies  hath 

guided, 
For  ' '  Why  should  the  spirit  of  mortal  be  proud  ? ' ' 

Yet  long  as  our  banner  shall  wave  in  her  beauty; — 
As  long  as  we  sing  of  the  red,  white  and  blue; 

Columbia  will  honor  in  pleasure  and  duty, 
The  memory  of  LINCOLN,  brave,  honest  and  true. 

Assembled  to-day  are  the  pride  of  the  Nation, 
Surrounding  the  spot  where  his  hallowed  dust  lies; 

Reviewing  his  service  in  grandest  oration, 
Recording  his  virtues  in  loftiest  praise. 

Though  granite  and  bronze  tower  high  where  he 
sleepeth, 

A  nation's  bereavement  and  grief,  to  proclaim; 
More  lasting  and  precious  the  love-light  that  keepeth, 

Enshrined  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  his  name. 


2O  Poems  of  Patriotism. 


OUR    COUNTRY. 

READ  BEFORE  THE  LITERARY  SOCIETIES  OF  CEN- 
TRAL  UNIVERSITY,  PELLA,  IOWA,  JUNE,  1876. 

OF  the  History  of  Nations, 
Which  upon  Time's  page  appears, 
There  is  one  whose  life  is  numbered, 

Only  by  a  hundred  years. 
This  we  claim  as  mother  country, 

And  she  challenges  to-day, 
All  the  world  to  view  the  wonders, 
Of  our  land  of  Liberty. 

It  becomes  us  who  are  living, 

In  this  educating  age, 
To  trace  carefully  the  verdict, 

On  this  written,  changeless  page; 
Striving  to  work  out  the  problem, 

How,  'midst  earthly  care  and  strife, 
We  may  serve  the  noblest  purpose, 

Of  a  brief  allotted  life. 

We  are  called  a  working  people; 

There  is  honor  in  the  name; 
We  could  ask  for  nothing  better, 

In  the  calendar  of  Fame. 
' '  Work  for  Right, ' '  upon  our  banners, 

O'er  the  land  should  be  unfurled, 


Our  Country.  21 

And  our  works  should  represent  us, 
Men  and  women,  to  the  world. 

Shall  we  tarry  for  a  moment, 

Very  briefly  to  relate, 
How  prosperity  hath  crowned  us, 

In  each  blood-bought,  star-bound  state  ? 
How  our  favored  land  has  blossomed, 

And  her  rich  prolific  soil, 
Hath  abundant  harvest  yielded, 

To  repay  the  tillers'  toil  ? 

Her  broad  lakes  and  winding  rivers, 

On  their  sun-kissed  tide  have  borne 
Freight,  which  brings  into  her  coffers, 

Wealth  abundant,  in  return. 
Her  grand  hills  are  stored  with  treasure, 

And  her  caverns,  deep  and  low, 
Have  burst  forth  with  oil  of  gladness, 

Light  and  comfort  to  bestow. 

In  this  great  and  growing  nation, 

Very  justly  we  take  pride; 
And  rejoice  in  the  progression 

Manifest  on  every  side. 
Towering  churches,  spacious  mansions, 

Meet  the  eye  on  either  hand, 
While  her  stately  HALLS  OF  LEARNING, 

Rise  in  grandeur  o'  er  the  land. 


22  Poems  of  Patriotism. 

Monuments  of  spotless  marble, 

Towering  heavenward,  proclaim 
Where  our  honored  dead  are  lying, 

Who  have  won  undying  fame. 
Some  have  fought  our  battles  for  us, 

And  have  perished  in  the  strife, 
Thus  bequeathing  to  the  nation 

Sacred  trust,  with  precious  life. 

As  we  meet  to  scatter  blossoms 

Where  our  fallen  soldiers  lie, 
May  we  prize  the  gift  of  Freedom, 

Boon  for  which  they  dared  to  die. 
And  from  Lincoln's  tomb  of  grandeur, 

To  the  humblest  unknown  grave, 
May  we  honor  all  the  fallen, 

Who  have  died  their  land  to  save. 

Countless  multitudes  are  thronging 

To  our  land,  from  o'er  the  sea; 
Beckoned  by  the  glowing  pictures 

Of  our  "  Home  of  Liberty." 
Many  who  are  slaves  of  passion, 

In  dark  bondage  unto  sin, 
Bringing  all  their  fetters  with  them — 

Still,  they  freely  enter  in. 

Some  have  brought  their  king,  Gambrinus, 
And  are  planting  on  our  sod, 

Training  schools  which  now  are  leading 
Anywhere  but  unto  God. 


Our  Country.  23 

While  the  blighting  shadows  deepen 

Over  Utah's  distant  plain, — 
Ignorance  and  superstition 

Gathered  from  across  the  main. 

Do  we  glory  in  our  triumphs  ? 

Let  it  be  with  modest  grace, 
Not  forgetting  the  dark  shadows 

Which  remain  yet  to  efface, 
Ere  our  land  among  the  nations 

Stands  as  honest,  brave  and  true, 
With  a  band  of  fearless  rulers 

And  no  liquor  revenue. 

Not  alone  into  the  hovei, 

Stalks  the  demon  of  the  night; 
It  is  found  within  the  mansion, 

With  its  dark  and  withering  blight. 
Here,  one  reared  in  degradation 

Is  borne  on  the  seething  tide, — 
There,  a  fainting,  struggling  victim, 

From  the  ranks  of  wealth  and  pride. 

Is  a  tower  less  a  prison, 

For  its  gilded  burnished  dome  ? 
Is  the  palace  barricaded 

Where  this  evil  may  not  come  ? 
While  the  lowest  of  the  lowest, 

Sink  into  the  drunkard's  grave, 
It  has  also  claimed  the  noble, 

And  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 


24  Poems  of  Patriotism. 

Shall  we  boast  our  Schools  of  Science, 

Blended  with  ennobling  art  ? 
Shall  we  boast  our  land  of  Freedom, 

Dear  to  every  patriot  heart, 
While  we  harbor  in  our  borders, 

Schools  which  train  our  youth  in  vice,- 
Schools  protected  by  the  people, 

Chartered,  licensed,  for  a  price  ? 

Shall  we  say  to  liquor  dealers, 

As  all  license  truly  saith: 
' '  Share  with  us  your  purchase  money, 

And  deal  out  the  dole  of  death? " 
Shall  we  hold  the  reeling  victim, 

Till  he  stands  upon  his  feet, 
To  be  lured  into  the  dram  shop, 

And  make  ruin  more  complete  ? 

Many  brave  and  fearless  heroes, 

Gave  their  lives  our  land  to  save; 
We  have  passed  Charybdis'  vortex, 

Must  we  sink  'neath  Scylla's  wave? 
Let  us  rally  to  the  rescue, 

Meet  this  tyrant  of  the  bowl, 
Who  is  holding  slaves  by  thousands, 

Fettered  heart  and  hand  and  soul! 

Freedom's  grandest  gift,  the  franchise, 
Tarnish  not  by  spot  or  stain, 

Sell  it  not  for  price  or  party, 
Give  it  not  for  greed  or  gain. 


Our  Country.  25 

When  each  voter,  in  the  ballot 
Seeks  the  people's  greatest  good, 

Then  the  mighty  voice  of  franchise, 
Shall  proclaim  true  brotherhood. 

Aid  no  wrong,  for  price  or  party, 

Is  a  law  of  life  and  love; 
Have  no  fellowship  with  evil, 

Said  our  Savior,  but  reprove. 
All  the  tide  that  leads  to  ruin, 

Though  we  may  not,  cannot  stay, 
Shall  our  "bonds  approved, "  and  "licensed," 

Speed  the  deluge  on  its  way  ? 

Ladies  hold  your  power  not  lightly, 

Spurn  the  patron  of  the  bowl; 
Shun  the  wine,  and  the  wine-bibber, 

As  you  value  life  and  soul. 
If  you  cannot  hold  a  lover 

To  a  sober  upright  life, 
Do  not  trust  your  power  to  rescue, 

In  the  higher  sphere  of  wife. 

What  will  maiden  charms  avail  you, 

To  make  beautiful  the  home, 
Where  the  senseless,  maddened  drunkard, 

To  its  sacred  shrines  must  come  ? 
He  may  furnish  you  a  palace, 

Decked  by  aid  of  every  art, 
But  he  never  can  afford  you, 

A  true  temple  for  the  heart. 


26  Poems  of  Patriotism. 

By  the  homes  we  so  much  cherish, 

For  our  daughters,  fair  and  true, 
And  our  sons  so  brave  and  noble, 

May  we  all  this  pledge  renew.. 
That  we  will  go  bravely  forward 

In  each  heaven-appointed  way, 
With  voice  of  love,  and  power  of  ballot, 

This  dark  pestilence  to  stay. 

With  the  grandly  closing  cycle 

Of  the  waning  century, 
Rounded  now  since  our  forefathers 

Raised  the  flag  of  Liberty; — 
May  we  sign  a  declaration, 

Independent  of  the  power, 
That  is  holding  this  great  nation 

In  such  bondage  at  this  hour. 

Then,  the  victims  of  base  passion, 

May  rejoice  as  they  go  free; 
And  the  song  shall  be  repeated, 

From  the  rivers  to  the  sea; 
And  from  mountain-top  to  mountain, 

There  shall  swell  an  anthem  high, — 
Anthem  that  shall  be  re-echoed 

From  the  ramparts  of  the  sky; 
When  our  nation  works  to  further 

Heaven's  great  redemptive  plan, 
Proving  that  her  grand  incentive, 

Is  man's  love  for  fellow  man. 


Burial  of  President  Garfield.  27 


BURIAL  OF  PRESIDENT  GARFIELD. 

TOLL!  solemn  bells;  toll!  toll! 
Proclaim  the  nation's  dole, 
Let  sorrow's  anthem  roll, 
Deep-toned  and  grand. 
Beat!  muffled  drums;  O  beat! 
While  slow  responsive  feet, 
A  funeral  train  complete 
Throughout  our  land. 

Trail,  trail  your  banners  low, 
That  all  the  world  may  know, 
A  nation's  grief  and  woe, 

On  this  sad  day. 
The  hero  of  our  trust, 
A  noble  man,  and  just, 
Is  borne  to  kindred  dust, 

In  mortal  clay. 

Closed  every  business  mart; 
The  nation's  throbbing  heart, 
This  day  may  have  no  part 

In  strife  for  gain. 
The  rain  of  falling  tears, 
Proclaim  how  love  endears, 
Through  changing  hopes  and  fears, 

Our  noble  slain. 


28  Poems  of  Patriotism. 

The  honored,  weary  form, 
That  bravely  faced  each  storm, 
With  heart  true,  loving,  warm, 

Lay  gently  down; 
Called  from  our  nation's  mast, 
Life's  conflicts  all  are  passed, 
Our  chief  hath  won  at  last 

A  fadeless  crown. 

Bow  low,  in  humble  prayer, 
And  ask  the  loving  care, 
Of  Him  who  did  not  spare 

His  only  son; 
O  God  of  nations!  lead, 
In  this  our  hour  of  need; 
In  His  loved  name  we  plead 

"Thy  will  be  done." 


EARLIER   POEMS. 


CHRIST  UPON  THE    WATERS. 

THICK  and  fast  the  rain  is  falling 
Over  Palestine  at  night; 
And  the  darkness  is  illumined 

By  the  lightning's  lurid  light; 
And  the  silent  hour  is  broken 

By  the  distant  thunder's  roar, — 
Watch-word  of  the  mighty  storm-king, 
Which  resounds  from  shore  to  shore. 

Ere  the  winds  had  roused  the  billows, 

Ere  the  shadows  gathered  dark, 
Saw  ye  far  upon  the  waters, 

Gently  float  a  fragile  bark  ? 
Now,  alas!  'tis  wildly  driven 

Onward,  by  the  hurrying  blast, 
Now  its  sails  are  rent  asunder, 

Now  the  trusty  anchor  cast. 

Yet  those  hardy  seamen  tremble, 
At  the  thunder's  crashing  roar, 

For  their  boat  is  tossing  wildly, 
Still  more  wildly  than  before; 


30  Earlier  Poems, 

Aye!  their  hearts  are  chilled  with  terror, 
Where  is  now  the  power  to  save, 

For  the  sea  is  lashed  to  fury, 

Must  they  sink  beneath  the  wave  ? 

While  the  billows  rage  around  them, 

And  the  clouds  burst  overhead, 
The  disciples  are  reminded 

Of  the  Master,  in  their  dread, 
And  they  hasten  to  awake  Him: 

"  Rouse  Thee  Master!  or  we  die — 
Car'st  Thou  not  that  we  should  perish, 

For  the  tempest  rageth  high." 

He  arises,  stands  beside  them, 

Gently  bids  them  "  Fear  no  more;" 
Still  the  lightnings  flash  around  them, 

Still  the  sullen  thunders  roar. 
List!  unto  the  raging  billows 

Jesus  speaketh,  "  Peace  be  still," 
And  the  storm  is  hushed  to  silence, 

For  the  winds  obey  His  will. 

Thus  may  we,  when  earthly  billows 

Surge  around  the  frightened  soul, 
Baffling  all  the  sails  of  purpose, 

Rending  anchors  of  control; 
Go  and  call  upon  the  Master, 

He  will  hear  an  earnest  cry, 
And  will  rescue  those  who  trust  Him, 

When  life's  tempest  rageth  high. 


Light  and  Love.  31 


LIGHT  AND  LOVE. 

IT  was  sunset  hour, 
And  the  magic  power 
Of  the  golden  skies  serene, 
Fell  on  all  around, 
As  in  thought,  spell-bound, 
I  gazed  upon  the  scene. 

I  beheld  a  cloud, 

And  its  mien  was  proud 

As  it  towered  o'er  earth  so  high; 
For  its  form  was  light, 
And  its  face  was  bright, 

And  it  hung  in  the  clear  blue  sky. 

As  I  gazed  with  joy 

On  Heaven's  fair  toy, 
I  beheld  a  gradual  change; 

The  cloud  still  there, 

Yet  no  longer  fair, 
And  I  thought,  'tis  passing  strange; 

Till  I  glanced  again 

On  Heaven's  blue  plain, 
And  saw  that  its  tint  grew  deep ; 

For  the  orb  of  day, 

With  his  brilliant  ray, 
Had  sunk  in  the  west  to  sleep. 


32  Earlier  Poems, 

And  then  I  knew 

'Twas  that  he  withdrew, 
That  my  cloud  was  no  longer  bright; 

For  its  brilliant  shade 

Had  been  portrayed, 
By  his  all-reflecting  light. 

There  is  a  light 

Which  is  still  more  bright, 

'Twill  the  fairest  hues  impart; 
It  comes  from  above, 
'  Tis  the  light  of  love, ' 

And  it  beautifies  the  heart. 

It  strews  the  path 

Of  the  child  of  Earth, 
With  fair  unfading  flowers; 

And  with  pencil  bright, 

In  their  rapid  flight, 
It  gilds  the  passing  hours. 

Yet  unlike  the  sun 

When  his  course  is  run, 
Who  is  followed  by  darksome  night; 

For  the  fount  of  love, 

Is  in  Heaven  above, 
Where  it  shineth  ever  bright. 


A  Song  of  Change,  33 

A  SONG   OF  CHANGE, 

OR,  AN  OLD  MAN'S  SOLILOQUY. 

THERE'S  a  cot  that  I  loved  in  my  childhood, 
And  'tis  cherished  by  memory  still, 
Nestled  down  by  a  deep-shady  wildwood, 

At  the  foot  of  a  far  sloping  hill; 
Roses  sweet  grew  beside  the  low  window, 
And  a  woodbine  twined  over  the  door, 
Flowers,  fresher,  or  fairer,  or  dearer, 
Shall  blossom  for  me  nevermore. 

There's  a  brook  that  I  loved  in  my  childhood, 

And  it  ripples  in  memory  still, 
Hiding  oft  in  the  midst  of  the  wildwood, 

As  it  winds  round  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
Graceful  willows  droop  lovingly  o'  er  it, 

And  its  waters  are  crystal  and  clear, 
And  the  pebbles  that  sparkle  beneath  them — 

Bright  rubies  were  never  so  dear. 

There's  a  form  that  I  loved  in  my  childhood, 

And  most  sacred  to  memory  still; 
My  dear  mate  as  I  roamed  through  the  wildwood, 

Near  the  cot  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
O !  her  eye  was  as  blue  and  as  gentle 

As  the  sky,  which  smiled  over  us  then, 
And  a  voice  so  enchanting  and  bird-like, 

I  shall  listen  to — never  again. 


34  Earlier  Poems. 

There's  a  hope  that  I  cherished  in  childhood, 

In  my  dreams  it  revisits  me  still, 
As  I  wander  again  in  the  wildwood, 

As  I  dwell  in  the  cot  by  the  hill. 
This  sweet  hope,  how  it  gladdens  the  future, 

Where  the  path  of  my  life  is  all  bright, 
For  a  gentle  one  lingers  beside  me, 

Even  down  to  its  shadowy  night. 

But  alas  for  my  dreary  awakings! 

Into  darkness,  not  dawning  they  seem; 
Oh,  would  that  my  dreamings  were  real, 

And  my  life's  cheerless  journey  a  dream. 
But  time  has  brought  many  sad  changes, 

With  burdens  of  labor  and  care, 
While  years  in  their  ceaseless  returnings, 

Have  whitened  to  silver,  my  hair. 

The  cot  that  I  loved  in  my  childhood 

Has  fallen  from  final  decay; 
Vanished  the  dear  shady  wildwood, 

The  woodman  has  cut  it  away. 
The  brook,  by  whose  banks  I  have  sported, 

Is  mournfully  murmuring  still; 
The  form,  and  the  hope,  that  I  cherished, 

Are  asleep  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 


Angel  Listeners.  35 


ANGEL  LISTENERS. 

WHEN  the  Night  her  plumes  are  spreading, 
Slowly  o'  er  her  sable  nest, 
And  the  weary,  and  the  careworn, 

Sink  in  quietude  to  rest; 
'Tis  delightful  then  to  fancy, 

When  the  evening  prayer  is  said, 
That  the  angels  gladly  listen, 
Hovering  near  us,  overhead. 

Every  feeble,  faint  petition, 

Finds  a  welcome  mid  the  throng; 
And  they  bear  it  gently  upward, 

Praising  as  they  float  along, 
That  the  power  to  them  is  given, 

Thus  to  minister  to  man, 
Sweetly  singing  richest  praises 

For  the  world's  redeeming  plan. 

Though  the  shadows  round  us  gather, 

Still  the  angels  bask  in  light; 
Aye!  we  hear  them  chant  of  Heaven. 

Where  is  neither  shade,  nor  night. 
If  the  heart  be  faint  and  weary, 

Angel  voices  murmur  low, 
Of  a  land,  all  free  from  sorrow — 

Of  a  rest  we  soon  shall  know. 


36  Earlier  Poems. 

List!  they  whisper  words  of  promise, 

As  they  linger  near  at  even, 
Waiting  to  be  joyous  bearers, 

Of  repentant  thoughts  to  Heaven. 
And  it  soothes  the  heart  to  fancy 

That  mid  shades  of  life's  dark  night, 
They  will  bear  the  spirit  heavenward, 

To  the  realms  of  endless  light. 


H 


JUD SON'S  GRAVE. 

1851. 
'  E  had  borne  the  rod, 

He  had  taught  of  God, 
Through  him  was  a  nation  bless' d; 
Though  the  ocean  now, 
Rolls  o'er  his  brow, 
Yet  sweet  is  his  tranquil  rest. 

'Neath  the  drifting  wave, 

Is  the  "Teacher's"  grave, 
Where  none  may  e'er  repair, 

With  a  loving  heart, 

To  bestow  in  part, 
Affection's  offerings  there. 

Yet  with  all  that  sleep, 

In  the  mighty  deep, 
At  the  great  Archangel's  tread, 

He  will  early  rise, 

To  the  joyous  skies, 
When  the  sea  gives  up  its  dead. 


To  a  Brown   Thrush.  37 


TO  A  BROWN  THRUSH. 

BEAUTIFUL,  beautiful,  forest  bird, 
Dost  thou  tarry  to  sing  unto  me  ? 
Gladly  thy  clear  woodland  voice  is  heard, 
Trilling  so  wild  and  free. 

Hast  thou  paused  in  thy  flight,  on  this  oaken  tree, 
Ere  far  o'er  the  fields  thou  shalt  roam, 

To  carol  a  welcoming  song  for  me, 
To  make  brighter  my  western  home  ? 

Dost  thou  come,  sweet  bird,  with  thy  cheering  song, 
From  some  feathered  throng  on  high  ? 

Dost  thou  gather  the  hues  of  thy  graceful  form, 
From  the  light  of  a  western  sky  ? 

O  linger,  dear  bird,  'neath  my  window  awhile, 
There  is  power  in  thy  mellow  tone 

To  banish  the  tear,  which,  displaced  by  a  smile, 
Will  return,  if  thou  leav'st  me  alone. 

Alas!  thou  hast  flown,  far  away,  far  away; 
Still  my  heart  will  remember  thee  long; 
Remember,  at  parting,  thou  seem'dst  to  say, 
'  Gather  fragments  of  sunshine  and  song." 


38  Earlier  Poems. 


TWILIGHT. 

FT  ARTH  is  beautiful,  'tis  eventide; 

IJ     My  heart  is  filled  with  naught  beside 

The  loveliness  of  eve. 
Adieu,  yon  pale  retreating  light, 
Being  less  welcome  far  than  night, 

Well  takest  thou  thy  leave. 

And  thou,  great  glorious  orb  of  day, 
Through  Heaven's  arch  hast  sped  thy  way, 

Sole  parentage  of  light. 
Thy  couch  with  crimson  thou  hast  dressed, 
And  seemingly  hath  sunk  to  rest, — 

Thou  too,  dost  welcome  night. 

Yon  star  that  loves  not  brilliant  day, 
Comes  forth  to  shed  its  tiny  ray, 

As  if  with  thought  impressed. 
It  twinkles  o'er  those  towering  trees, 
Whose  foliage  whispers  to  the  breeze, — 

Hush,  'tis  the  hour  of  rest 

I  list,  and  hear  the  gushing  rills; 
The  cattle  on  the  sloping  hills 
Are  silent  in  repose. 


Twilight.  39 

With  joy  they  hailed  the  opening  day, 
Which  quietly  they've  grazed  away, — 
With  gratitude,  its  close. 

Light  fleecy  clouds  of  mellow  hue, 
Sink  nearer  earth,  and  gentle  dew, 

As  grateful  off 'ring  bring. 
Each  bird  is  hushed  in  tree  and  bower, 
To  enjoy  the  shadowy  twilight  hour, 

With  head  beneath  its  wing. 

How  sweetly  died  its  evening  song, 
Which  echo,  anxious  to  prolong, 

Endeavored  to  repeat. 
'Twere  vain,  she  could  not  sing  so  well, 
And  yet  there  was  a  magic  spell 

About  her  music,  sweet. 

A  spell  that  wraps  my  soul  in  love, 

That  raised  my  thoughts,  my  heart  above, 

In  gratitude  and  prayer. 
If  such  fair  scenes  to  us  are  given, 
Such  music  lent  to  earth  from  Heaven, 

What  are  the  glories  there  ? 

My  heart  beats  not  in  tumult  wild, 
With  impulse  caused  by  Nature's  smile, 

There's  sadness  on  her  brow. 
And  yet  that  sadness  is  so  sweet, 
I,  glad  in  mine  own  spirit,  greet 

Her  gentle  teachings  now. 


40  Earlier  Poems, 

Methinks  there  is  an  unseen  power, 
Hovering  o'  er  earth  at  twilight  hour 

That  lulls  the  mind  to  rest. 
So  when  the  night  of  life  draws  near, 
Kind  spirit,  quell  each  doubt  and  fear 

That  lingers  in  the  breast. 


POEMS   OF   MY   CHILDREN. 


THE  FIRST  BORN. 

IRVING. 

IS  this  my  little  baby  boy, 
That  nestles  by  my  side, 
That  fills  my  heart  with  gladsome  joy  ? 

Nay,  do  not  call  it  pride — 
With  joy,  I  ne'er  before  have  known, 

That  unto  me  is  given, 
A  little  treasure  all  my  own, 
Just  from  the  courts  of  Heaven. 

A  few  brief  days  upon  time's  tide 

My  little  one  has  known, 
His  fragile  barque  he  could  not  guide, 

Upon  its  waves  alone. 
And  so  secured  beside  mine  own, 

He  floats  without  a  fear, 
And  who  shall  say  he  does  not  know, 

Some  guiding  hand  is  near  ? 

Yet  thus  it  may  not  ever  be, 

For  when  long  years  have  passed, 


42  Poems  of  My  Children. 

And  I,  with  failing  strength,  shall  near 

The  distant  shore  at  last — 
When  firm  at  helm,  with  manhood's  power, 

My  child  shall  stem  the  tide, 
Perhaps  his  mother's  barque  will  float, 

Securely  by  his  side. 

He's  sleeping  now,  yet  mark  his  face, 

And  see  those  dimples  play; 
What  sees  my  little  darling  one  ? 

What  do  the  angels  say  ? 
'Tis  said  when  sleeping  infants  smile, 

That  unto  them  'tis  given, 
To  see  the  smiling  angel  bands, 

Who  tune  their  harps  in  Heaven. 

Delightful  thought,  and  why  not  true  ? 

Did  not  the  Savior  say, 
' '  Of  such  as  these  my  kingdom  is, 

Then  turn  them  not  away  ?  ' ' 
O  Father,  grant  this  gift  of  thine, 

Kept  free  from  every  stain, 
May,  by  a  pure  and  spotless  life, 

Return  Heaven's  smiles  again. 


Loaned.  43 


LOANED. 

EDWARD. 

ONLY  a  cherub  loaned, 
Love  to  enfold; 
Only  a  little  stay, 
Earth  to  behold. 

Plumed  for  the  "  Happy  Land," 

Radiant  and  bright, 
Our  darling  so  precious 

Has  taken  his  flight. 

Why  should' st  thou  linger, 

On  life's  troubled  sea, 
When  the  angels,  dear  Eddie, 

Were  waiting  for  thee  ? 


44  Poems  of  My  Children. 


CHILDREN'S  PHILOSOPHY. 

IT  was  night,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
Sharp  lightnings  flashed  down  from  on  high; 
Then  deep  thunders  rolled  in  the  darkness, 
When  Mattie  peered  up  toward  the  sky, 

And  there,  saw  a  scene  of  such  grandeur, 
Of  lightning  and  darkness  in  strife, 

As  she  had  not  seen  to  remember, 
In  all  the  four  years  of  her  life. 

Her  lips  were  half-parted  in  wonder, 
Her  eyes  opened  wide  with  surprise, 

As  she  listened  to  rain  and  to  thunder, 
And  gazed  out  with  awe  to  the  skies. 

Then  quickly  she  turned  to  us,  smiling; 

In  thought,  a  solution  had  come: 
"  Oh  listen!  dear  Mamma,  in  heaven, 

The  Lord  is  just  beating  his  drum." 

"  No,  daughter,"  the  mother  made  answer, 
' '  The  Lord  has  no  drum  in  the  skies. ' ' 

Then  the  mouth  opened  wider  with  wonder, 
The  eye  showed  still  greater  surprise. 

She  pondered  in  doubt  but  a  moment, 
A  reason  occurred  to  her  soon, 


Where  is  Heaven  f  45 

And  she  said,  ' '  Then  I  spect  up  in  heaven 
The  Lord  must  be  striking  the  moon. ' ' 

Then  Irving,  of  eight,  spoke  up  boldly, 
With  wisdom,  concerning  the  weather; 

"  Why!  Mattie!  I  thought  you  knew  better! 
The  clouds  are  just  bumping  together'' 


WHERE  IS  HEA  YEN? 


"  /\  /I  AMMA>"  said  a  little 
JVl   "  Where  is  Heaven  ?"      "Faraway,1 

Dreamily  the  mother  answered, 

Wondering  what  she  ought  to  say; 
When  the  little  infant  skeptic 

Who  believed,  where  he  could  see, 
Said,  '  '  Is  it  beyond  the  hilltop  — 

And  the  clouds  above  the  tree  ?  '  ' 
"Yes,"  the  mother  faintly  answered. 

'  '  And  beyond  the  moon,  so  high  ?  '  ' 
"Yes."     "And,  Mamma,  will  you  surely 

Go  to  Heaven  when  you  die  ?  '  ' 
"  Mamma  hopes  to,"  said  she  meekly; 

Then  the  darling  ran  away. 
And  the  mother  pondered  over 

Questions  he  had  asked  that  day. 
But,  the  question  was  not  settled, 

For  her  boy  returning  soon 
Said,  "Why  Mamma!  such  big  lady 

Could  not  get  behind  the  moon!  '  ' 


46  Poems  of  My  Children. 


LUCY  MAY. 

HAVE  you  seen  our  Lucy  May ? 
Have  you  seen  the  darling,  say  ? 
O !  but  she  is  wondrous  fair, 
With  the  silken  chestnut  hair, 
Curling  round  her  cherub  head, 
While  her  dainty  lips  so  red, 
Ever  seem  to  ask  a  kiss, 
And  our  hearts  are  filled  with  bliss, 
Since  she  cheers  us  every  day, 
Precious  baby,  Lucy  May. 

She  has  such  a  cunning  nose, 
And  her  cheeks  are  like  the  rose, 
While  her  brow  is  lily  fair, 
'Neath  the  curling  chestnut  hair. 
Stars  within  the  folds  of  night, 
Never  shone  with  purer  light, 
Than  her  little  love-lit  eyes, 
Speaking,  giving  sweet  replies, 
And  bright  smiles,  like  sunbeams  play, 
On  the  face  of  Lucy  May. 

Ne'er  was  princess'  jeweled  wand, 
Charming  as  her  dimpled  hand. 
How  we  cheered  with  rapturous  joy, 
Her  first  grasp  of  tiny  toy; — 


May.  47 


Now  she  hides  her  eyes  from  view, 
Glances  out,  for  "Peek-a-boo." 
She  can  make  a  '  '  patty  cake,  '  ' 
"  Pick  it,  toss  it  up  to  bake," 
And  more  wondrous  still  than  this, 
She  can  throw  a  honey-kiss. 
Winsome  baby,  Lucy  May, 
Mother's  wonder  all  the  day. 

Yet,  oh  why  those  dewy  tears, 
As  I  glance  adown  the  years, 
On  the  battle-field  of  life? 
Baby  May  must  join  the  strife, 
Bravely  may  she  share  its  toil. 
She  may  meet  its  wild  turmoil,  — 
Darling  cannot  always  rest 
On  a  loving  mother'  s  breast. 
Heavenly  Father,  grant  this  prayer, 
May  she  have  Thy  tender  care; 
Safely  o'er  life's  changing  way, 
Guard,  and  guide,  our  Lucy  May. 


48  Poems  of  My  Children. 


JOY  AND  SORROW. 

EMMA. 
APRIL  IO,    1870. 

PASS'  D  were  the  shadows  of  the  night, 
The  bird-hailed  morn  had  come; 
Life's  angel  tarried  in  his  flight, 

To  leave  within  our  home 
A  little  cherub,  whose  dear  life 

Should  ever  more  entwine, 
In  scenes  of  joy,  or  sorrow's  strife, 
So  tenderly  with  mine. 

Blossoms  are  springing  to  the  light, 

Buds  bursting  on  the  tree, 
All  nature  singing  with  delight, 

As  this  life  comes  to  me. 
May  not  our  precious  little  bud, 

By  her  sweet  presence,  bring 
Love's  warmth,  and  sunshine,  to  abide, 

Like  a  perpetual  spring  ? 

I  clasp  a  clinging  rose- tint  hand, 

And  on  her  lips  and  brow, 
Press  pledges  of  the  mother  love, 

Which  gushes  freshly  now. 
And  then  in  musing,  dreamy  mood, 

Through  mists  of  tender  tears, 


Joy  and  Sorrow.  49 

I  try  to  picture  out  her  life, 
In  all  those  coming  years. 

But  thus  it  wisely  may  not  be; 

He  who  my  darling  gave, 
Alone  can  trace  her  pathway,  from 

The  cradle  to  the  grave. 
To  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well, 

I  breathe  a  mother's  prayer, 
And  trust  the  dear  one  by  my  side, 

To  His  protecting  care. 

JULY  10,  1871. 

Well  might  I  not  discern  the  way! 

A  few  brief  months  had  sped, 
When  our  wee  star  that  dawned  with  day, 

With  evening  shadows  fled; 
And  we  are  left  in  sorrow's  night, 

Whose  density  is  riven, 
By  that  firm  faith,  eluding  sight, 

Which  opes  the  gates  of  Heaven. 

The  Shepherd  saw  our  precious  lamb, 

That  she  was  chilled  with  cold; 
He  clasped  her  little  waxen  hand, 

And  bore  her  to  His  fold, 
Where  turbid  flood,  and  raging  storm, 

Can  never,  never  come, 
To  fright  our  darling,  or  to  cast 

A  shadow  o'er  her  home. 


50  Poems  of  My  Children. 


BABY'S  EYES. 

NELLY. 

DEAR  little  eyes,  beautiful  eyes, 
Winking  and  blinking,  with  queer  surprise, 
Now  peeping  at  you,  now  peering  at  me; 
What  do  you  think,  can  the  little  one  see,  , 

With  the  wee  starry  eyes, 

Which  like  windows  are  given, 
To  look  through  on  earth, 
From  the  borders  of  heaven  ? 

Little  bright  eyes,  light  giving  eyes! 
How  bless' d  are  the  beings  on  whom  they  arise! 
'Tis  cheerless  without,  frost-bound  and  so  drear, 
What  matter  ?  within  is  all  sparkling  with  cheer. 
And  all  from  the  light 

Of  the  sweet  baby's  eyes. 
Alas!  for  the  homes 

Where  such  lights  never  rise. 

Little  brown  eyes,  wonderful  eyes ! 
What  do  we  see  in  the  marvelous  eyes  ? 
Treasure  more  precious  than  silver  or  gold, — 
Fathoms  of  love,  that  can  never  be  told, — 
Adding  beauty  to  earth, 

Leading  up  to  the  skies; 
That's  what  we  see 

In  the  dear  baby's  eyes. 


My  Sleeping  Babes.  51 


MY  SLEEPING  BABES. 

I  HAVE  come  once  more  in  sadness, 
To  weep  o'er  precious  dust; 
I  have  come  once  more  with  gladness, 

And  a  firm,  abiding  trust; 
For  I  know  my  babes,  though  sleeping, 

'Neath  the  sunlit  stars,  or  rain, 
Are  safe  in  my  Savior's  keeping, 
He  will  give  them  back  again. 

Oh!  how  keen  the  bitter  anguish, 

When  my  lovely  infant  boy, 
In  my  clinging  arms  must  languish, 

While  I  tried  so  to  employ, 
Aid  of  every  known  appliance, 

His  most  precious  life  to  save, — 
When  had  failed  all  skill,  and  science, 

I  must  yield  him  to  the  grave. 

With  what  eagerness  I  pleaded 

For  the  life  of  my  dear  son, 
Adding,  in  the  faintest  whisper, 

"  Not  my  will,  but  Thine  be  done." 
And  when  life's  last  ray  had  flickered, 

It  seemed  almost  hard  to  say, 
' '  Blessed  be  the  Hand  that  gave  him 

And — hath  taken  now  away." 


52  Poems  of  My  Children. 

As  I  robed  my  mute,  cold  darling, 

For  his  long  earth-cradled  rest, 
Placed  the  buds  within  the  waxen, 

Dimpled  hands,  upon  his  breast; 
Bathed  the  face,  in  death  so  lovely, 

With  a  mother's  tenderest  tears; 
Then,  I  thought  to  keep  my  sorrow, 

Fresh  through  all  the  coming  years. 

Years  have  passed  since  last  I  clasped  him 

To  my  aching,  throbbing  breast; 
Longing  to  embalm  the  casket, 

In  love's  clinging,  fond  caress; 
And  as  I  am  strewing  blossoms 

O'er  his  restful  grave  to-day, 
I  can  add  with  firmer  accent, 

' '  And  hath  taken  him  away. ' ' 
****** 
Once  again  the  shadow  rested 

On  our  home,  so  bless' d  with  light. 
Once  again  we  were  enveloped 

In  the  gloom  of  sorrow's  night. 
But  we  turned  us  from  the  casket, 

Lovely  form,  and  snowy  shroud, 
To  the  promise  of  the  Father, 

' '  There  is  light  beyond  the  cloud. ' ' 

Thorns  we've  found  along  life's  pathway, 
Ne'  er  can  pierce  their  tender  feet, 

While  our  rest  has  oft  been  broken, 
Theirs  has  tranquil  been,  and  sweet. 


My  Sleeping  Babes.  53 

Should  the  darkest  earth-storms  gather, 
They  are  safe  from  all  alarms, 

And  I  bless  the  gentle  Savior 

Who  has  borne  them  in  His  arms. 

As  I  read  upon  the  marble, 

Names  we  called  our  darlings  by; 
As  I  whisper,  "Eddie,"  "Emma," 

Listening  vainly  for  reply, 
I  look  up,  and  sweetly  fancy, 

That  they  heed  the  voice  of  love, 
Though  my  babes  may  only  answer, 

To  the  angel  roll  above. 
OAK  RIDGE  CEMETERY,  SPRINGFIELD,  ILL.,  April,  1872. 


POEMS   OF   KINDRED. 


A  LOCK  OF  SILVER  HAIR. 

1859- 

I  HAVE  shorn  away  from  my  Mother's  brow, 
A  lock  of  silver  hair,    > 
And  I  think,  as  I  gaze  on  the  token  now, 
When  that  brow  was  young  and  fair. 

This  lock  was  then  of  a  chestnut  hue, 
And  her  hopes  of  life  were  bright. 

I  ask  my  heart,  are  they  faded  too, 
As  the  tress  has  grown  so  white  ? 

Some  years  ago,  a  tender  form 

She  clasped  to  her  loving  breast, 
And  she  longed  to  shield  from  every  storm, 

The  child  to  her  bosom  pressed. 

She  pictured  a  life  all  bright  and  fair, 
As  she  toyed  with  the  hand  that  now 

Hath  shorn  this  shining  tress  of  hair, 
From  her  pale  and  care-worn  brow. 

She  says  that  the  days  have  fleetly  passed, 
And  that  in  review,  they  seem 


A  Lock  of  Silver  Hair.  55 

Like  a  changing  scene,  that  could  not  last, 
Like  a  varied  transient  dream. 

"  And  thus,"  she  says,  "it  will  be  with  you, 

For  ere  you  are  aware, 
The  locks  that  are  now  of  chestnut  hue, 

Will  change  to  silver  hair. 

' '  Life' s  mingled  scenes,  in  their  rapid  flight, 

Will  wear  a  somber  hue, 
While  the  densely  dark,  or  the  gaily  bright, 

That  greet  thee,  will  be  but  few. 

' '  Then,  remember  dear,  when  the  night  is  dark, 

Or  when  morn  is  exceeding  fair, — 
'Tis  a  changing  sea,  with  an  earthly  barque, — 

Remember  the  silver  hair." 
****** 
That  shining  tress,  so  dear  to  me, 

Twined  with  my  own  to-night 
But  verifies  her  prophecy, 

For  both  are  silver  white. 


56  Poems  of  Kindred. 


MY  MOTHER'S  LAST  BLESSING. 
1863. 

THE  sands  of  life,  my  children, 
Are  slowly  ebbing  now; 
And  while  death's  chilling  dampness 

Is  stealing  o'er  my  brow, 
While  this  fond  heart  is  beating, 

Ere  the  tender  chord  be  riven, 
That  binds  me  to  this  earthly  sphere, 

And  keeps  me  back  from  heaven — 
A  mother's  parting  blessing, 

I  hasten  to  bestow, 
On  those  so  fondly  cherished, 

Who  must  tarry  here  below. 

Take  up  cheerfully  life's  burdens, 

With  a  firm,  courageous  heart, 
And  in  all  Time's  changing  drama 

Act  an  earnest,  faithful  part 
Strive  to  serve  the  lowly  Master; 

Let  thy  watchword  ever  be — 
I  will  labor  for  the  Savior, 

Who  hath  lived  and  died  for  me. 
Oh!  'tis  sweet  to  know  the  Shepherd 

Ever  hath  a  tender  care, 
For  all  those  who  love,  and  trust  Him, 

And  their  paths  He  will  prepare. 


My  Mother' s  Last  Blessing.  57 

Follow  wheresoe'er  He  leadeth, 

Whether  on  the  mountain  high, 
Or,  perchance,  low  in  the  valley, 

Where  the  shadows  thickly  lie. 
Ever  joyful  in  life's  sunshine, 

And  when  her  dark  sorrows  come, 
Let  them  prove  a  sweet  reminder 

Of  that  brighter,  better  home, 
Where  no  sorrow  e'er  can  enter, 

Where  is  neither  shade,  nor  night, 
Where  bless' d  spirits  dwell  forever, 

In  the  realms  of  endless  light. 

Oh !  my  heart  is  thrilled  with  pleasure, 

Though  its  pulses  feebly  beat, 
When  I  think  of  the  departed, 

Whom,  with  joy,  I  soon  shall  greet. 
From  the  brink  of  Death's  dark  river, 

I  discern  the  ' '  Shining  shore, ' ' 
I  am  waiting  now,  and  watching, 

Till  the  angels  bear  me  o'er. 
List!  I  hear  the  voices  calling, 

And  must  hasten  to  bestow 
A  last  blessing  on  the  loved  ones, 

Who  must  linger  here  below. 


58  Poems  of  Kindred. 


HEARING   THE  RIVER* 

"  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  Thou  art  with  me." 

FEAR  not!   for  lo,  I  am  with  thee, 
On  the  brink  of  Death's  dark  flood, 
To  prepare  the  way  before  thee, 

And  thy  passport  is  My  blood. 
All  the  darkness  is  but  shadow, 

Hiding  Canaan's  shore  from  view; 
I  have  crossed  the  surging  billow, 
And  will  bear  thee  safely  through. 

Unseen  beauties,  untold  raptures, 

Wait  thee  on  the  other  side; 
Thou  shalt  look  with  glad  thanksgiving, 

On  the  dim  receding  tide, 
Which  has  borne  thee  from  all  sorrow, 

From  a  world  of  pain,  and  care, 
To  the  realms  of  bliss  eternal, 

For  there  is  no  sorrow  there. 

Dearest  sister,  may  we  ever 

To  the  great  Redeemer  live, 
Whether  with  fresh-throbbing  pulses, 

Which  new  life  and  vigor  give; 
Or,  with  weary,  fainting  spirit, 

We  await  the  Master's  will, — 
They  that  labor  for  Him,  serve  Him, 

Those  who  suffer,  serve  Him  still. 


*  To  my  sister  Myra,  shortly  before  her  death,  March  14,  1865. 


Four  Score.  59 


FOUR  SCORE. 

TO  MY  FATHER  ON  HIS  EIGHTIETH  BIRTHDAY,   CEL- 
EBRATED AT  DARTFORD,   WIS.,  JULY  is,  1879. 

OLD  Time  has  numbered  years  four  score 
Since  launched  upon  life's  tide, 
There  was  an  infant    ark  which  bore 
The  hero  by  my  side. 

In  far  away  New  England  home, 
Fond  parents  found  the — "  Moses," 

Not  left  to  toss  and  die  unknown, 
But  anchored  'mid  life's  roses. 

Glad  children  gathered  round  to  see, 
The  wondrous  new-found  treasure, 

And  clapped  their  hands  in  merry  glee, 
Expressive  of  their  pleasure. 

The  neighboring  wives  soon  ' '  happened  round, ' ' 

And  were  surprised — it  may  be, 
To  find  within  their  thriving  town 

So  wonderful  a  baby. 

For,  while  each  child  had  seemed  complete, 

The  last  was  the  completest; 
While  each  one  in  its  way  was  sweet, 

The  youngest  was  the  sweetest. 


60  Poems  of  Kindred. 

No  palace  walls  this  baby  knew, 

Beheld  no  regal  splendor; 
But  in  the  cottage  where  he  grew, 

Was  true  love,  warm  and  tender. 

Piano  there  you  could  not  find, 
But  birds  gave  sweetest  singing; 

While  woodmen  in  the  chorus  joined, 
With  trusty  axes  ringing. 

'Twas  thus,  four  score  of  years  ago, 
New  England  homes  were  "cleared;" 

When  stately  forests  were  laid  low, 
And  sons  and  daughters  "  reared." 

Simple  supply,  met  simple  need, 
And  by  the  hearthstone  altar, 

They  worshipped  God — held  simple  creed, 
And  faith  that  did  not  falter. 

To  manhood,  soon,  my  hero  grew, 

But  I  must  hasten  over 
The  years  that  all  so  swiftly  flew, 

Past  schoolboy,  youth  and  lover. 

'  Twas  by  a  fireside  of  his  own 

That  I  first  chanced  to  meet  him, — 

Came  from  the  wonderland  alone, 
One  early  morn  to  greet  him. 

The  winds  were  blowing  cold  and  bleak, 
The  wintry  snow  was  falling 


Four  Score,  61 

That  morn,  when  I  with  tiny  feet, 
So  early  came  a  calling. 

They  gave  the  little  stranger  room, 

Proclaimed  there  was  another 
To  share  the  tender  care  of  home, 

The  love  of  father — mother. 

******* 

And  I,  that  child  of  years  ago, — 

(At  home,  a  child  again,) 
Take  up  the  lyre  I  sometimes  use 

To  join  in  the  refrain, 

Which  memory  of  the  bygone  years, 

This  day  is  freshly  bringing, — 
Ah!  there  are  strains  for  joy  and  tears 

In  life  songs  we  are  singing. 

Beloved  ones  are  not  all  here, 

Yet  as  we  praise  The  Giver, 
We  almost  catch  the  echoed  cheer, 

Of  those  beyond  the  river. 

Some  that  remain,  upon  this  day, 

With  grateful  gladness  gather, 
This  tribute  of  respect  to  pay 

To  our  devoted  father. 

Long  years  of  life  lie  in  the  rear, 

And  in  the  days  before  him, 
May  Faith,  and  Love,  and  Hope  and  Cheer 

Bear  all  their  banners  o'er  him. 


62  Poems  of  Kindred. 

And  may  we  all,  when  life  is  past, 

Be  gathered  at  the  river, 
Launched  for  the  ' '  Summer  Land ' '  at  last, 

There  to  abide  forever. 

##*#*# 

SEPTEMBER,    1879. 
A  T  REST. 

At  rest!  our  dear  Father; 

Heaven's  angels  of  slumber, 
Have  tenderly  called  thee  to  peaceful  repose. 

The  record  is  ended, 

Four  score  is  the  number 
To  mark  thy  long  life,  at  its  evening  close. 


SUNDAY-SCHOOL   SONGS. 


WORK  TO  DO  FOR  JESUS. 

MUSIC  BY  REV.  ROBERT  LOWRY. 

'The  harvest  truly  is  plenteous,  but  the  laborers  are  few." 

THERE  is  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 
Yes,  a  glorious  work  to  do, 
For  a  harvest  fully  ripened, 

Rich  and  golden,  lies  in  view. 
With  a  prayer  to  God,  our  Father, 

Let  us  all  the  work  pursue, 
For  our  risen  Lord  is  calling, 
And  the  harvesters  are  few. 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  there's  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 

And  the  harvest  is  in  view, 
There's  a  great  work  everywhere  to  do; 
There  is  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 

And  the  harvesters  are  few, 
There's  enough  work  for  all  to  do. 

There  is  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 
And  we  hear  the  Savior  say, 

' '  Why  art  standing  here  so  idle, 
At  the  noontide,  on  the  way  ? 


64  Sunday-School  Songs. 

Even  now  I  will  accept  thee; 

With  the  rest,  thy  wages  pay; 
Go  and  labor  in  My  vineyard, 

Till  the  closing  of  the  day." 

CHORUS — 

Yes,  there's  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 

Who  will  answer  to  the  call  ? 
See!  the  vintage  is  abundant, 

There  is  work  to  do  for  all. 
God  commands  that  we  should  labor, 

Though  the  task  our  hearts  appall, 
For  He  claimeth  our  life-service, 

Till  the  shades  of  death  shall  fall. 

CHORUS. 

Yes,  there's  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 
And  the  harvest  is  in  view, 

There's  a  great  work  everywhere  to  do. 

There  is  work  to  do  for  Jesus, 
And  the  harvesters  are  few, 

There's  enough  work  for  all  to  do. 


Never  Forget.  65 


NEVER  FORGET. 

MUSIC  BY  PROF.  J.  W.  B1SCHOFF. 

"  Behold,  I  stand  at  the  door,  and  knock." 

NEVER  forget  that  the  SAVIOR  is  near, 
Asking  if  thou  wilt  receive  Him; 
He  will  protect,  from  all  danger  and  fear, 
Those  who  love,  trust  and  believe  Him. 

CHORUS. 

Never  forget,  never  forget 
Jesus  is  near,  oh!  receive  Him. 
He  will  come  in,  banish  all  sin, 
Cheerfully  trust,  and  believe  Him. 

Never  forget  that  the  MASTER  is  near, 

All  of  thy  life  He  is     viewing, 
How  shall  the  record  before  Him  appear, 

Art  thou  His  precepts  pursuing  ? 

CHORUS — 

Never  forget  the  GOOD  SHEPHERD  is  near, 

Patiently  leading,  and  guiding; 
Turn  not  away,  lest  His  voice  thou  shalt  hear, 

Tenderly  pleading,  and  chiding. 
CHORUS — 


66  Sunday- School  Songs. 

Never  forget  the  REDEEMER  is  near, 
Nor  the  dear  ransom  once  given, 

If  we  accept,  love  and  honor  Him  here, 
We  shall  dwell  with  Him  in  Heaven. 
CHORUS— 


SEEK  JESUS. 

MUSIC  BY  RKV.  ROBERT  LOWRY. 

"  Those  that  seek  Me  early  shall  find  Me." 

SEEK  Jesus,  seek  Jesus, 
In  childhood  and  youth, 
For  they  that  seek  early  shall  find. 
His  word  hath  declared  it, 
How  precious  the  truth, 
The  promise  how  loving  and  kind. 

CHORUS. 

Seek  Jesus,  seek  Jesus, 
For  they  that  seek  early,  shall  find  Him, 

He  is  the  true  way, 

O !  do  not  delay, 
Seek  Jesus,  O !  seek  Him  to-day. 

Seek  Jesus,  seek  Jesus, 
Ere  evil  days  come, 
When  thou  canst  no  pleasure  obtain, 


Seek  Jesus.  67 

Lest  weary,  and  fainting, 
And  longing  for  home, 
Ye  wander,  and  seek  Him  in  vain. 

CHORUS— 

Seek  Jesus,  seek  Jesus, 

While  yet  He  is  near, 
And  He,  thy  Good  Shepherd  will  be; 

His  arms  shall  enfold  thee, 

From  danger  and  fear, 
His  life  He  hath  given  for  thee. 

CHORUS— 

Seek  Jesus,  seek  Jesus, 

While  He  may  be  found, 
His  love,  and  compassion  are  free, 

And  He  will  receive  thee, 

Where  true  joys  abound, 
For  Jesus  is  seeking  for  thee. 

CHORUS. 

Seek  Jesus,  seek  Jesus, 
For  they  that  seek  early  shall  find  Him, 

He  is  the  true  way, 

O !  do  not  delay, 
Seek  Jesus,  O !  seek  Him  to-day. 


POEMS  OF  TEMPERANCE. 


A  FOE  IN  THE  LAND. 

MUSIC  BY  PROF.  J.  W.  BISCHOFF. 


T 


^HERE'S  an  enemy  at  hand, 

Shall  we  forward  march,  or  stand, 
While  there  is  within  our  land  a  deadly  foe  ? 
Foe  that  charges  on  the  soul, 
Lurking  in  the  sparkling  bowl, 
Luring  on  to  folly,  ruin,  crime  and  woe. 

CHORUS. 

On,  on,  on,  the  foe  is  marching, 
Bearing  to  death  a  mighty  throng; 

Let  us  rally  at  the  call, 

Rally  bravely,  one  and  all, 
God  is  leading  in  the  battle 
'Gainst  the  wrong. 

'Tis  a  foe  with  smiling  face, 

Who  with  winsome,  charming  grace, 

Binds  his  victim  first  with  frailest  silken  band; 
But  his  power  will  increase, 
He  will  banish  joy  and  peace, 

As  he  holds  with  fatal  grasp,  and  iron  hand. 
CHORUS — 


A  Foe  in  the  Land.  69 

Rally  for  that  noble  son, 

Rally  for  the  precious  one, 
Upon  whom  the  light  and  joy  of  life  depend; 

Are  thy  treasures  all  secure  ? 

Hast  thou  nothing  to  endure  ? 
Rally  then  with  tender  heart  for  neighbor — friend. 

CHORUS — 

Rally  with  the  voice  of  love, 

Bear  the  emblem  of  the  dove, 
Seeking  safety  from  the  deluge  of  despair; 

Rally,  with  your  banners  high 

Waving  in  the  azure  sky, 
And  the  eagle's  dauntless  pinion  graven  there. 

CHORUS — 

•\ 

Forward  march,  without  delay, 

Or  the  foe  may  win  the  day, 
He  is  raising  new  recruits  on  every  hand; 

Forward!  with  the  battle-cry, 

Those  we  love  may  surely  die, 
If  we  do  not  rout  the  foe  within  the  land. 

CHORUS — 


Poems  of  Temperance. 


"LOOK  NOT  UPON  THE   WINE." 

'  Look  not  thou  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red.     *    *    *    At  the  last,  it 
biteth  like  a  serpent,  and  stingeth  like  an  adder." 

LOOK  not  on  the  wine, 
Though  it  sparkles  so  brightly, 
And  proffers  its  victims 

Elysian  bliss; 
For  couldst  thou  but  read, 

What  it  promises,  rightly, 
The  note  of  its  warning, 
Would  surely  be  this : 

"  Oh!  pray  that  the  tempter, 

Forever  forsake  thee, 
Trust  not  the  allurements 

Of  brandy  or  wine, 
Lest  fearful  destruction, 

Shall  quickly  o'ertake  thee, 
And  death  shall  enroll  thee, 
A  victim  of  mine. ' ' 

The  angel  of  Pity, 

With  sadness,  is  viewing, 

Thy  tottering  steps, 

Near  that  fearful  abyss, 

Where  thousands  are  wild 
Fiery  phantoms  pursuing, 


Two   Tables  at  the  Banquet.  71 

Where  serpents  are  gliding, 
Where  scorpions  hiss. 

How  fearful  the  vision ! 

How  fatal  the  real! 
Then  pause,  ere  the  death-giving 

Beverage  thou  sup, 
Or  thou  too,  shalt  learn 

That  it  is  not  ideal, 
To  talk  of  the  demons 
That  lurk  in  the  cup. 


TWO   TABLES  AT  THE  BANQUET* 

OR,  PLEA  OF  A  POLITIC  LA  WYER. 

TWO  tables  were  spread  for  the  banquet, 
Prepared  with  fastidious  care, 
Snowy  and  spotless  the  linen, 

And  faultless  the  elegant  ware; 
The  viands  were  rich  and  abundant, 

Substantial,  and  fancy,  and  fine, 
Displaying  the  rarest  attractions, 

Which  ladies  know  how  to  combine. 
There  were  signs  of  a  conflict  with  turkey; 

There  were  hints  of  a  triumph  o'er  tongue, — 

*  Banquet  given  at  the  tenth  anniversary  of  law  partnership  firm. 


72  Poems  of   Temperance. 

A  conquest  so  needful  for  lawyers, 

Retained  for  the  right  or  the  wrong. 
In  fact  all  the  elegant  dainties, 

A  generous  purse  could  supply, 
Were  furnished  in  lavish  profusion, 

To  please  both  the  taste,  and  the  eye. 
The  service  of  glass,  and  of  silver, 

To  all  gave  a  glittering  sheen, 
Entrancing  the  eye  of  beholder, 

A  charming  and  fairy-like  scene. 
And  beautiful  flowers  were  added, — 

The  Eden-like  touch  that  is  given, 
To  carry  us  back  to  the  garden, 

And  beckon  us  onward  to  Heaven. 

All  this  was  in  commemoration, 

In  modernized  tin-wedding  plan, 
Of  man,  who  in  business  relation, 

Had  ten  years,  been  wedded  to  man. 
Success  in  the  legal  profession, 

Had  earned  them  a  recognized  name, 
The  firm  had  abundantly  prospered, 

Won  fortune,  and  favor,  and  fame. 
At  last,  when  all  things  were  made  ready, 

And  the  guests,  who  from  far,  and  from  near, 
Had  come  to  partake  of  the  bounty, 

And  join  in  the  festival  cheer, 
Were  bidden  around  the  two  tables, 

So  sumptuous,  tempting  and  fine, — 
Lo!  one  was  adorned  with  red  ribbon, 

The  other  was  sparkling  with  wine. 


Two   Tables  at  the  Banquet.  73 

Said  the  host  to  the  parties  assembled, — 

(Or  thus  I'll  suppose  that  he  said; 
For  acts  speak  a  very  plain  language, 

And  the  wine,  and  the  ribbon  are  read:) 

THE  PLEA. 

' '  A  Word  to  explain  the  adornments, 

Which,  gentlemen,  here  you  perceive; 
We've  had  a  '  Red  Ribbon'  revival, 

A  Temperance  move,  I  believe, — 
In  fact  it  is  really  surprising, 

The  furor  this  ribbon  has  made; 
It  is  worn  by  all  classes  of  people, 

Of  every  profession  and  trade. 
Judge  Blank  has  put  on  the  red  ribbon, 

For  him,  '  twas  a  very  good  plan ; 
We  know  that  the  Judge,  for  these  ten  years, 

Has  been  but  the  wreck  of  a  man; 
And  yet,  he  has  very  fine  talents! 

When  he  was  admitted,  they  say, 
The  judges  and  bar  all  predicted, 

He'd  make  a  great  leader,  some  day; 
I  hope  he  will  hold  to  his  purpose, 

He's  rowing  against  a  high  tide, — 
I  fear  he  will  find  in  the  trial, 

He's  retained  on  a  very  hard  side. 

' '  Young  Thorp,  who  last  year  was  admitted, 

He  could  not  let  liquor  alone; 
We  thought  he  had  gone  to  the — Dickens, 

But  he  has  the  red  ribbon  on ; 


74  Poems  of   Temperance. 

We  thought  he  disgraced  our  profession, 
Looked  on  him  with  pity  and  shame; 

He's  showing  he  has  the  true  metal, 
And  yet  may  win  honor  and  fame. 

"  There's  Smith,  whom  we  sent  up  to  prison, 

'  Best  place  for  the  rogue,'  people  said, 
If  he  had  but  worn  the  red  ribbon, 

It  might  have  done  wonders  for  Fred. 
At  heart  he  was  not  a  bad  fellow, 

But  drinking  led  on  to  his  crime; 
I  hope  he  will  learn  to  keep  sober, — 

Twelve  years  will  give  plenty  of  time. 
And  Ryan,  and  Flynn,  arid  the  other, 

All  three  went  for  whiskey,  you  know; 
If  they  all  had  worn  the  red  ribbon, 

That  surely  need  not  have  been  so. 

' '  And  Tyler,  the  fellow  who  madly 

The  bullet  applied  to  his  brain, — 
'Tis  fearful  to  think  of  his  conflict, 

With  wretchedness,  guilt,  and  the  pain, 
That  led  him  to  welcome  the  horrors 

Of  death,  and  the  gloom  of  the  grave, 
To  flee  from  himself,  and  temptation, 

From  whom  none  were  able  to  save. 
'  Twas  said  he  was  vile,  no  doubt  truly, 

And  yet  such  a  death,  on  the  whole, 
Proclaims,  by  a  fearful  self-loathing, 

There  was  a  fair  side  to  his  soul. 


Two   Tables  at  the  Banquet.  75 

For  his  mother,  he  left  a  sad  letter, 

Said  his  life  had  been  wicked  and  wild, 
And  asked  that  he  might  be  remembered, 

As  he  was,  when  an  innocent  child; 
And  added,  '  Tell  all  to  take  warning, 

If  they  from  the  curse  would  be  free, 
To  shun  the  first  glass,  for  'twas  drinking, 

That  brought  all  this  ruin  to  me; 
Forgive  all  my  madness  and  folly, 

To  mend  it  is  useless  to  try, — 
To  save  further  anguish  and  trouble, 

It  is  only  left  me — to  die. ' 

"  Poor  fellow!  his  life  was  a  failure, 

And  it  is  surprising  of  late, 
How  often,  in  very  high  circles, 

We  read  of  a  similar  fate. 

' '  The  saddest  of  all  was  the  woman, 

The  suicide,  heiress,  and  bride, 
Who  left  the  fair  home  of  her  childhood, 

Of  luxury,  culture  and  pride; 
Who  gave  all  the  wealth  of  affection, 

That  lady  to  lover  could  give, — 
And  pictured  the  future  an  Eden, 

Where  she  and  her  hero  would  live. 
Alas  for  the  fatal  delusion! 

Ere  the  honey-moon  passed  in  its  flight, 
Her  idol  lay  cruelly  shattered, 

And  there  was  revealed  to  her  sight, 


76  Poems  of   Temperance. 

A  form,  so  debased  and  repellant, 

That  she,  who  was  gentle  and  pure, 
Sought  death,  to  be  free  from  the  presence, 

Which  she  could  no  longer  endure. 
How  fresh  were  the  vows  at  the  altar, 

Transforming  the  maiden  to  wife, — 
The  vows,  to  love,  honor  and  cherish, 

As  long  as  God  granted  her  life. 
What  pencil  can  picture  the  anguish, 

That  led  to  her  bitter  despair, 
When  nothing  was  left  her  to  honor, 

And  Love,  broken-hearted,  was  there? 
Oh  pitiful,  pitiful,  picture! 

The  suicide,  heiress  and  bride, 
How  worse  than  alone  was  her  dying, 

Who  died  by  a  drunken  man's  side? 
'Tis  well  for  these  Temperance  People 

To  rally,  and  do  what  they  can, 
Against  such  a  terrible  evil, 

To  woman  as  well  as  to  man. 

' '  Now  many,  for  whom  it  seemed  useless 

To  labor,  or  even  to  pray, 
Are  taking  a  turn  for  the  better, 

And  wear  the  '  Red  Ribbon'  to-day. 
••'  Old  Sharp'  has  put  on  the  regalia, — 

The  hardest  old  toper  in  town; 
Last  night  he  was  one  of  the  speakers, — 

They  say  he  just  brought  the  house  down ; 
His  wife  was  the  belle  of  her  season, 

And  he,  the  'best  catch,'  I  am  told; 


Two   Tables  at  the  Banquet.  77 

One  hardly  could  think,  or  believe  it, 

To  see  them,  so  shabby  and  old. 
The  friends  of  his  youth  have  disowned  him; 

She's  clung  to  him  all  of  these  years, 
And  a  sad  sorry  life  he  has  led  her, 

In  poverty,  shame,  and  in  tears. 
But  now  she  looks  cheerful  and  happy, 

And  truly  seems  proud  of  '  Old  Ben,' 
And  says,  '  If  he  only  keeps  sober, 

He's  one  of  the  noblest  of  men.' 

' '  This  will  be  a  good  thing  for  our  city, 

We  needed  a  check  upon  rum, 
'  Twill  do  away  largely  with  evil, 

And  brighten  up  many  a  home; 
'Twill  lighten  the  tax  on  the  people, 

For  poverty,  madness,  and  crimes, 
It  will  strengthen  the  hands  of  true  labor, 

And  help  us  to  banish  hard  times. 
Still,  there  are  two  sides  to  the  question, 

And  judges,  and  lawyers  all  know, 
That  to  side  with  a  temperance  movement, 

For  legal  men,  never  would  do. 
A  few  of  our  colleagues  have  tried  it, 

But  they  will  all  find,  in  the  end, 
That  they  have  lost  caste  in  the  market 

Where  patronage  is  the  best  friend. 
One  must  live  by  his  trade,  or  profession, 

And  liquor  men  always  are  free; 
The  profits  so  easily  gathered, 

They  do  not  begrudge  in  a  fee, — 


78  Poems  of  Temperance. 

The  State  is  a  splendid  paymaster, 

And  she  pays  the  bills  for  the  crime, 
That  gives  us  so  much  occupation, 

And  pays  us  so  well  for  our  time. 
Then  there  are  the  upright,  and  sober, 

Their  patronage  we  must  secure, 
For  such  men,  for  all  litigation, 

Make  payment,  substantial,  and  sure. 
But  here  is  a  fact  to  make  note  of, 

As  the  current  is  shown  by  a  straw, 
These  temperate,  good  sort  of  people, 

Very  rarely  resort  to  the  law. 

"Yes!  there  are  two  sides  to  the  question, 

To  please  all  that  we  may  be  able, 
We  have  at  the  banquet  before  you, 

A  'Wine,'  and  'Red  Ribbon'  table: 
Remember,  this  is  a  free  country, — 

Each  man  is  a  king,  in  his  own, 
And  welcome  to  do  as  he  pleases, 

To  drink,  or  to  let  it  alone." 


Memorial  Tree.  79 


MEMORIAL    TREE* 

STAND  firmly  thou  memorial  tree 
Beneath  this  favored  sky; 
The  memories  planted  here  with  thee, 
Shall  never,  never,  die. 

Where  winds  shall  sigh,  and  birds  shall  sing, 

Around  our  honored  dead; 
Where  sun  and  stars,  their  radiance  fling 

Upon  their  earthly  bed; 

Thy  leaves  shall  wave,  and  gently  fall 

Upon  the  treasure    sod, 
Which  holds  their  dust; — but  that  is  all, 

Their  spirits  rest  with  God. 


*  Planted  by  a  delegation  from  the  National  W.  C.  T.  U.  near  the 
Tomb  of  George  and  Martha  Washington. 


8o  Poems  of   Temperance. 


HOME  GUARD  MEMBER. 

I  HAVE  been  to  the  ' '  Temperance  Meeting ' ' 
Of  the  W.  C.  T.  U. 
I  went,  for  a  neighbor  asked  me, 

To  see  what  I  could  do. 
The  hardest  part  was  starting, 

For  my  only  way  to  go, 
Was  to  keep  Grace  home  with  the  children — 
Nelly,  and  Fred,  and  Joe. 

As  they  told  what  women  were  doing, 

I  thought  of  the  kitchen  fire, — 
And  wondered  if  Grace  would  remember 

The  bread,  and  the  damper  wire. 
And  when  I  tried  to  listen, 

And  hear  them  pray  and  sing, 
I  thought  of  the  children  and  Gracie, 

And  if  the  bell  should  ring 

And  a  tramp  should  stand  before  them, 

Would  they  be  scared  alone  ? — 
I  tried  to  think  of  the  meeting, 

But  thought  much  more  of  home. 
I  heard  one  talk  of  prisons, 

And  the  Gospel's  mighty  power, — 
I  thought  of  my  little  prison 

I  had  left  for  just  one  hour. 


Home  Guard  Member.  81 

I  listened,  and  I  pondered, 

Till  I  heard  a  kind  voice  say, 
"There  are  many  who  join  our  army 

Who  must  stand  home  guard  all  day. ' ' 
Home  guard!     Did  I  hear  rightly  ? 

That  surely  must  mean  me; — 
Then  she  told  of  the  UNION  SIGNAL, 

And  about  the  yearly  fee. 

Another  told  of  THE  TEMPLE 

Which  to  all  the  world  shall  say; 
' '  We  are  working  to-day  and  building 

For  a  cause  that  is  here  to  stay. ' ' 
Another,  about  the  women 

Who  have  gone  across  the  sea, 
Wearing  the  pure  white  ribbon, — 

Badge  of  home-loyalty. 

Again  I  was  disheartened, 

I  could  not  join  the  band — 
I  had  not  held  in  three  months 

A  dollar  in  either  hand. 
And  so  I  left  the  meeting, 

And  thoughtfully  went  home, 
The  children  had  been  crying, 

But  they  laughed  to  see  me  come. 

I  tied  up  Nelly's  fingers, 

That  were  burned  while  I  was  gone; 
I  got  my  thread  and  needle, 

And  sewed  Fred's  buttons  on; 


82  Poems  of   Temperance. 

I  washed  the  baby's  dimples 

And  tied  his  little  shoe, 
But  the  tears  would  fall  for  thinking 

How  little  I  could  do. 

When  we  sat  down  to  supper 

John  saw  that  my  eyes  were  red; 
And  he  saiJ,  "  Mary  you're  troubled 

Again  with  that  aching  head. ' ' 
I  said,  "  No,  John,  but  I'm  sorry 

There's  so  little  that  I  can  do, — 
I  would  like  to  join  the  army 

Of  the  W.  C.  T.  U." 

Then  I  told  about  the  paper 

And  about  the  yearly  fee, 
And  I  said,  "John,  I've  been  thinking 

That  we  might  give  up  our  tea. ' ' 
His  voice  was  very  tender, 

As  he  said,  ' '  That  will  not  do, 
But  you  shall  join  the  army, — 

And  tobacco  I'll — es-chew. 

"  We  will  read  about  the  battle, 

As  we  guard  our  little  band; 
But  I  want  you  to  belong,  wife, 

To  this  army  in  our  land. 
So  just  send  in  this  money 

And  put  on  the  little  bow, — 
You  shall  be  our  HOME  GUARD  member 

Of  the  W.  C.  T.  U." 


The  Crusade.  83 


THE  CRUSADE, 

ANSWER   TO  QUERY:    "  WHAT  HAS  THE  CRUSADE 
DONE  FOR    YOU?  " 

WHAT  has  THE  CRUSADE  done  for  me? 
Shown  doors  of  opportunity; 
From  quiet  home  of  restful  ease, 
Where  friends  and  self  I  wrought  to  please, — 
Led  out  to  battle-field  sublime; 
Displayed  new  charts  for  life  and  time. 

As  now  I  glance  adown  the  years, 
Recall  the  songs,  the  prayers,  the  tears, 
In  church,  in  prison  and  saloon, 
What  wonder,  there  has  come  so  soon 
To  be  one  mighty  praying  band 
Whose  faith  and  works  circle  the  land. 

As  I  have  read  the  annals  through, — 
Recalled  the  old,  received  the  new 
Which  span  the  wonderful  decade. 
The  then  and  now,  of  our  crusade; 
The  record  glows  with  this  one  thought — 
Behold!  the  wonders  He  hath  wrought. 

We're  coming  at  this  later  hour, 

To  plead  our  cause  in  halls  of  power; 


84  Poems  of  Temperance. 

And  while  we  come  with  voice  of  love 
Bearing  the  emblem  of  the  Dove, 
We  also  rear  on  banners  high, — 
Our  matchless  Eagle  of  the  sky. 

Shall  the  proud  pinions  trail  in  dust 
That  hover  o'er  each  sacred  trust? 
Remember,  mightier  than  the  sword, 
Is  declaration  of  our  Lord, — 
The  nation  which  forsaketh  Me, 
That  nation  shall  forsaken  be. 


'MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


SIMILES. 

T    IKE  pearls  of  dew  in  the  bells  of  flowers, 
I  j     Like  songs  of  birds  in  the  leafy  bowers, 
Like  the  gentle  patter  of  welcome  rain, 
Falls  a  soothing  word  on  a  burdened  brain. 

As  peace  which  follows  the  battle's  strife, 
Which  soothes,  yet  quickens  the  pulse  of  life; 
So  Charity's  voice  on  an  erring  heart, 
May  love  for  a  holier  life  impart. 

Like  the  first-born  blossoms  of  early  spring, 
Which  smile  in  the  joy  and  gladness  they  bring, — 
Thus  a  cheering  word  may  new  life  bestow, 
To  a  heart  frost-bound  by  Adversity's  snow. 

As  fresh  as  dew  on  the  thirsty  corn, 

As  fair  as  the  roseate  hues  of  morn, 

As  bright  as  stars  in  heaven's  azure  blue, 

Are  the  words  and  deeds,  of  a  friend  proved  true. 


86,  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


SING.  ROBIN,   SING. 

SING,  robin,  sing! 
Sing  at  the  earliest  dawn, 
When  the  shadows  of  night, 
Have  taken  their  flight, 
And  the  beautiful  day  is  born. 

Sing,  robin,  sing! 
Sing  when  the  soft  perfume, 

Is  borne  on  the  air, 

Freely  everywhere, 
From  the  earliest  flowers  that  bloom. 

Sing,  robin,  sing! 
Sing  when  the  bountiful  rain 

Has  scattered  its  pearls 

In  eddies  and  whirls, 
Sing  us  thy  sweetest  refrain. 

Sing,  robin,  sing! 

Sing  when  the  waning  light 
Is  bidding  thee  creep 
To  thy  wing-curtained  sleep, 

Sing  us  a  gentle  "  Good  Night" 


Green  Lake.  87 


GREEN  LAKE* 

BEAUTIFUL  waters  of  Emerald  green, 
With  surface  that  sparkles  in  Fairy-like  sheen, 
With  waters  that  myriads  of  treasures  reveal, 
Whose  depths  keep  secure,  what  they  cannot  conceal; 
How  charming  thy  scenery,  so  wild  and  so  free, — 
GREEN  LAKE  was  a  name  fitly  chosen  for  thee. 

Now  glimmering  in  ripples,  at  Zephyr's  light  breath, 
Now  placid  in  semblance  of  Nature's  calm  death, 
Reflecting  the  splendors  of  Sol,  in  his  pride, 
Inverting  the  forests  that  border  thy  side, 
Returning  the  smiles,  of  the  clouds  as  they  pass, 
Transferring  their  beauty,  in  Emerald  glass. 

Of  ocean  and  commerce,  thou  never  hast  dreamed, 
In  thy  quiet  retreat  where  kind  Nature  hath  seemed 
To  place  thee  to  cool  heated  pulses  of  Life; 
To  quell  the  low  fevers,  of  turmoil  and  strife, 
For  those  who  from  business,  and  care  turn  aside, 
To  sport  on  thy  waters,  or  lave  in  thy  tide. 

Since  Alchemy  failed  youth's  elixir  to  find, 
The  ages  succeeding  have  ever  combined, 
Endeavors  as  useless,  Life's  charms  to  withhold, 
By  decking  her  pathway,  with  jewels  and  gold; 

*Dartford,  Wisconsin;  Home  of  my  Father,  July,  1872. 


88  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Forgetting  that  lilies,  in  lovely  array, 
Outvied  a  great  Monarch  in  royal  display. 

Lured  on  by  ambition,  men  gather  their  gain, 
Oft  burdened  of  heart,  and  'neath  pressure  of  brain, 
Which  turns  all  the  glitter  of  gold  into  rust, 
Makes  coveted  diamonds  seem  worthless  as  dust, 
Until  they  have  learned,  what  they  gathered  in  haste 
For  apples  of  beauty,  are  ashes  to  taste. 

For  such  there  is  rest,  on  thy  banks  of  repose, 
Rare  jewels  for  them,  will  thy  waters  disclose, 
From  the  pebbles  that  lie  in  their  beauty  at  rest, 
To  the  gold  in  the  lilies  that  float  on  thy  breast, 
While  on  thy  calm  surface,  from  center  to  shore, 
New  life  may  be  found  in  the  plying  of  oar. 

Pure  blood  will  flow  freely  at  heart's  faithful  beat, 
A  conscience  unburdened  give  sleep  that  is  sweet, 
And  these  shall  sustain,  amid  trial  and  care, 
Through  changes  that  come,  in  this  life,  everywhere; 
Thus  they,  greatest  treasure,  in  life  shall  obtain, 
Who  keep  true  heart-vigor  whatever  their  gain. 

Adieu  lovely  waters,  so  placid  and  free, 
GREEN  LAKE  was  a  name  fitly  chosen  for  thee; 
For  green  are  thy  waters,  and  green  is  thy  shore, 
And  green  shall  thy  memory  remain  evermore. 


Broken  Clouds.  89 

BROKEN  CLOUDS. 

WHEN  do  the  skies  seem  brighter 
Than  when  clouds  have  broken  away  ? 
Or  when  does  the  light  seem  lighter 

Than  at  early  dawn  of  day  ? 
Or  when  are  the  flowers  sweeter 
Than  they  are  at  early  Spring, 
When  hath  passed  the  dreary  Winter, 
And  the  birds  sweet  music  bring  ? 

And  when  beats  the  heart  more  lightly 

Than  when  sorrow  has  fled  away, 
And  the  future  glistens  brightly 

From  hope's  reviving  ray? 
What  though  there  are  moments  of  sadness  ? 

'Tis  a  beautiful  world  of  ours, 
Where  we're  cheered  by  hope  and  gladness, 

Greeted  with  songs  and  flowers. 

As  we  sail  adown  Life's  river, 

If  the  heart  be  kept  aright, 
With  hope  as  an  anchor  ever, 

And  love  as  a  beacon  light; 
Then  life  may  be  bright  and  joyous, 

Though  the  billows  'neath  us  roll, 
For  the  Father  who  reigneth  o'er  us, 

Will  speak  peace  to  the  troubled  soul. 


go  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


STORY  OF  THE  LETTER   CARRIER'S 
OLD  SATCHEL. 

I  HAVE  come  to  report  you  my  labors, 
All  rusty,  and  weary,  and  worn, 
My  shabbiness  speaks  of  the  service, 
Which  I  have  so  faithfully  borne. 

Through  sunshine,  in  fair  or  foul  weather, 
The  patrons  we  serve  have  all  found, 

That  Master,  and  I,  have  together, 
Most  faithfully  plodded  our  round. 

He  bears  me  strapped  over  his  shoulder, 
And  yet,  I  must  claim,  it  is  true, 

That  mine  has  been  half  of  the  service, 
In  bringing  your  letters  to  you. 

I  often  have  brought  you  glad  tidings, 
-Dispelling  forebodings  and  fears; 

Again,  it  has  been  my  sad  duty, 

To  bring  you  deep  sorrows  and  tears. 

But  I  might  not  fashion  the  message, 
Which  oft  I  have  brought  to  your  door, 

I  gave  what  to  me  was  entrusted, 
And  no  one  could  ask  me  for  more. 


Story  of  the  Letter  Carrier"  s  Old  Satchel.    91 

My  honesty  none  have  disputed, 

For,  had  I  been  given  to  pelf, 
The  greenbacks  and  bonds  I  have  carried, 

A  fortune  would  make  for  myself. 

Thus,  while  I  retire  from  the  service, 
Much  worse  for  the  wear,  as  you  see, 

My  pockets  are  empty,  and  honor 

Untarnished,  and  conscience  quite  free. 

And  my  letters!  and  missives!     If  only 
Their  contents  I  once  should  unfold! — 

But  no,  for  my  service  was  sacred, — 
Your  secrets  I  never  have  told. 

Perhaps  I  may  venture  to  tell  you, 
How  once  in  my  freshness  and  youth, 

I  carried  such  tender  love  letters, 

Boasting  constancy,  ardor  and  truth. 

'T  was,  "  Mary,  my  love,  and  my  darling, 
My  own  precious  sweet,  and  my  dear, 

My  fife  would  be  midnight  without  you, 
But  with  you  all  sunlight  and  cheer. 

' '  When  once  we  are  wedded,  my  darling, 
Farewell  to  all  trouble  and  care, 

My  home  can  be  only  an  Eden, 
When  my  beautiful  Mary  is  there. 

' '  How  rich  I  shall  be  with  my  jewel, 
Such  a  pearl  to  my  keeping  to  give! 


92  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

We  will  prove  to  the  world  that  true  lovers, 
Love  on,  just  as  long  as  they  live." 

That  was  some  years  ago,  you  remember, 
And  John  and  his  Mary  were  wed; 

Having  told  the  sweet  part  of  the  story, 
Perhaps  now,  the  least — the  best  said. 

Well,  John  went  away  on  some  business, 
And  therefore  a  letter  should  come 

Once  more  to  his  sweet  darling  Mary, 
The  pride  of  his  Eden-like  home. 

I  brought  it, — her  step  was  less  sprightly 
Than  when  she  had  met  me  of  yore, 

And  I  thought  I  saw  traces  of  sadness, 
Where  all  had  been  brightness  before. 

'T  was,  "Moll,  you  will  look  for  a  letter, 
To  tell  you  when  I  shall  be  home; 

Can't  tell  just,  but  it  will  be  safest 
To  look  for  me — when  I  may  come 

"  My  business  is  pretty  much  over, 
But  a  man  must  have  pleasure  you  know, 

And  I,  on  the  whole,  have  concluded, 
This  is  just  the  season  to  go — 

"  On  a  trip  to  the  Falls,  and  the  Mountains, 
With  some  friends  who  are  going  that  way; 

We  look  for  a  jolly  good  season, 
Can't  tell  just  how  long  I  shall  stay. 


Story  of  the  Letter  Carrier's  Old  Satchel.    93 

"Am  sorry  you  could  not  go,  Mollie, 
As  we  used  to  talk  of,  you  know, 

But  then, — when  a  woman  has  children, 
She  could  not  expect  much  to  go. 

"  But  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you, 
That  Frank  is  along  with  his  bride; 

He's  in  luck,  and  has  won  a  rare  jewel, 
In  whom  he  must  ever  take  pride. 

"  Now  Moll,  can't  you  brush  up  a  little, 

Before  I  shall  come  back  again  ? 
I  fear  you  have  grown  rather  careless, 

A  little  too  homespun  and  plain. 

"Take  good  care  of  Ned,  and  the  baby, 
Attend  them  whatever  may  come; 

Their  whooping-cough  soon  will  be  over, 
At  least  by  the  time  I  get  home. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  need  any  money, 
But  will  send  you  a  dollar  or  so; 

This  trip  will  take  all  my  spare  greenbacks, 
They're  not  very  plenty  you  know. 

' '  And,  Moll,  you  will  look  to  the  garden, 

Don't  let  anything  go  to  waste; 
Good-bye,  I  am  off  to  the  steamer. 

Your  husband,  with  love  and  in  haste." 


94  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

This  is  but  a  slight  intimation 

Of  some  things  in  life  I  have  learned, 

And  leads  me  to  wonder  if  Mary's 
Love-letters  have  ever  been  burned. 

Now,  after  a  view  so  dissolving, 
I  think  I  must  tell  you  of  Joe, 

Who  wrote  tender  letters  to  Sally, — 
I  carried  the  first,  long  ago. 

The  writing  looked  shaky,  and  awkward; 

The  name  he  had  written  askew; 
But  his  purpose  was  straight  as  an  arrow, - 

I  think  I  must  tell  it  to  you. 

"  Dear  Sally,  I'm  no  letter  writer, 
But  I  have  been  wanting  to  tell 

A  secret,  my  heart  has  been  hiding, — 
I've  loved  you  long,  truly,  and  well. 

"I've  no  earthly  fortune  to  offer, 
But  I  have  a  heart  warm  and  true, 

And  an  arm  that  is  willing  to  labor, — 
These  only,  I  offer  to  you. 

"  If  God  grants  me  health,  I  can  furnish 
The  needs  of  a  plain  humble  life, 

And  I  know  I  should  try  to  make  happy, 
One  whom  I  could  choose  for  a  wife. ' ' 


Story  of  tJie  Letter  Carrier's  Old  Satcliel.    95 

You  need  not  expect  I  shall  tell  you, 

The  message  I  carried  to  Joe; 
It  made  the  poor  fellow  look  happy, 

And  so  you  can  guess  it,  I  know. 

Well, — often  I've  passed  by  the  dwelling, 
Where  Joe  made  his  Sally  a  home, 

And  caught  the  light  laughter  of  children, — 
E'en  birds  seemed  delighted  to  come, 

And  add  their  sweet  song  to  the  music, 

That  rang  on  the  joy-laden  air. 
Ah!  surely  this  home  was  an  Eden, 

For  ' '  Love  in  a  cottage ' '  was  there. 

Once  Joe  was  empaneled  as  juror, 
Which  took  him  a  fortnight  away, 

He  wrote  such  plump  letters  to  Sally, — 
I  carried  her  one  every  day. 

How  cheerily  came  she  to  get  them, — 
Their  contents  you  never  shall  know, 

The  light  in  her  eye  would  convince  you, 
That  these  were  ',  Love-letters" — from  Joe. 

So  Ladies,  guard  well  your  heart  treasures, 
For  I,  who  was  young,  and  am  old, 

Have  learned  that  the  love  the  most  boastful 
Is  surest  to  wane  and  grow  cold. 


96  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


FALLING  LEAVES. 

THE  first  fading  leaves  of  September, 
Are  fluttering  downward  to  earth, 
As  if  they  would  bid  us  remember, 
That  death  follows  quickly  on  birth. 

So  recently  waving  in  beauty, 

Responding  to  each  summer  breath, — 

Now  falling,  in  humble  leaf  duty, 
To  teach  us  the  lessons  of  death. 

They  whisper  and  sigh  as  they  tremble, 

As  if  to  their  comrades  to  say, 
' ' '  Tis  useless  for  us  to  dissemble, 

You  shortly  must  follow  this  way. 

1 '  The  bright  days  of  summer  are  over., 
And  we,  who  hung  high  in  our  prime, 

Have  been  but  the  first  to  discover, 
That  leaves  must  all  wither  in  time. 

"You  may  cling  till  the  frost  gives  you  warning, 
By  chilling  your  veins  with  the  cold, 

Your  green  tints  of  summer  all  turning 
To  crimson,  and  purple,  and  gold. 


The  Dying   Year.  97 

"  In  those  brilliant  hues,  though  you  glory, 

Your  fate  is  the  lot  of  us  all, 
Repeating  the  often  told  story, 

That  leaves  in  their  season  must  fall." 


THE  DYING    YEAR, 

the  last  lone  hour,  of  the  dying  year, 
1       And  the  winds  are  sighing,  low  and  drear, 
As  they  toss  the  sleet,  half  snow,  half  rain, 
In  a  farewell  dirge,  'gainst  the  window-pane, 
As  I  listen  to  hear  the  gladsome  shout, 
"  The  New  Year  in,  and  the  Old  Year  out." 

No  one  grieves  for  the  Old  Year's  death, 

As  they  wait  for  his  latest,  failing  breath; 

For  now,  that  his  glory  and  prime  are  o'  er, 

He  may  go,  as  the  years  have  gone  before, 

Where  the  bells  of  Time  are  joyfully  rung, 

O'er  the  birth  of  the  New  Year,  fresh  and  young. 

Yet  gladly  we  hail  thee!  bright  New  Year, 
With  words  of  welcome,  and  songs  of  cheer; 
When  spring-time,  summer,  and  autumn  are  past, 
Old  winter  shall  grizzle  thy  beard  at  last, — 
And  thou,  when  thy  glory  and  prime  are  o'er, 
Shalt  go,  as  the  years  have  gone  before. 


gS  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

The  years  they  come,  and  the  years  they  go, 

While  Time,  with  a  tide  of  ceaseless  flow, 

Is  bearing  us  over  life's  changing  hours, 

Now  under  the  shadows,  now  'mid  the  flowers, 

But  ever  anon,  toward  Eternity's  shore, 

Where  Time,  with  his  changes,  shall  come  no  more. 


OLD  BACHELOR  AND  POLLY. 

(IN  DIALOGUE.) 

1 '  T  T  ERE  I  come  back  to  my  dismal  old  room, 
1  1     No  one  to  pleasantly  welcome  me  home, 
No  one  to  say,  '  I  am  glad  you  have  come, ' 
No  one  to  greet  me,  but  Polly." 

POLL  PARROT — 

'  lHow-dy-do  ?    How-dy-do  f ' ' 

"  '  Pretty  well,  darling,'  is  what  I  should  say, 
If, — well,  no  matter,  'tis  many  a  day 
Since  I  have  thought  of  things  just  in  that  way; — 
'  Pretty  well,  thank  you,  old  Polly.'  " 

POLL — 

"  What's  the  news  ?      What's  the  news  f" 

"Nell,  whom  I  flirted  with, — long  ago  wed; 
Clara  I  promised, — poor  girl,  she  is  dead; 


Old  Bachelor  and  Polly.  99 

Widow  Bland  jilted  me,  and,  it  is  said, 
Married  a  worse  fellow,  Polly." 

POLL — 

< '  Pretty  Poll !    Pretty  Poll! ' ' 

' '  '  Pretty  ?  '  Ah  no !  you'  re  not  pretty,  but — well — oh ! 
There  should  be  some  one  to  speak  to  a  fellow; 
Though  you  are  stupid,  and  greenish,  and  yellow, 
Still  you  can  speak  to  me,  Polly." 

POLL — 

' '  Polly1  s  sweet  ?    Polly1  s  sweet  f ' ' 

"  '  Polly1  s  sweet ! '    No!  that  you  certainly  are  not; 
And  it  is  evident  too,  that  you  care  not 
Whether  I  come  or  go,  only  you  fare  not 
Well  in  my  absence,  old  Polly." 

POLL — 
"Polly  want  a  cracker, — Polly  want  a  cracker" 

"  '  Polly  wants'  something,  you  always  are  saying; 
Keeps  me  quite  busy,  your  bills  to  be  paying; 
But  no  fine  dress  I  must  buy,  for  displaying; 
That  is  quite  good  of  you,  Polly." 

POLL — 

1 '  Poor  Polly  /    Poor  Polly  ! ' ' 

"  '  Poor  Polly;'  now  you  talk  just  like  a  woman; 
Surely,  old  Polly,  this  is  a  bad  omen; 


ioo  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Fretting  and  whining  gives  comfort  to  no  man; 
This  is  all  foolishness,  Polly." 

POLL — 

"  Polly's  sick— Polly's  sick." 

"  '  Polly's  sick! '  now  you  say  that  to  get  petting, 
Just  like  a  woman,  made  sick  by  your  fretting; 
Will  you  have  blisters,  bleeding,  or  sweating  ? 
What  shall  I  do  for  you,  Polly  ?  " 

POLL— 

"  Call  Missus — Call  Missus" 

"  '  Call  Missus! '     Poll,  I  have  called  her,  for  years, 
Called  her  with  coaxing,  and  pleading,  and  tears, 
Faithfully  called,  yet  no  Missus  appears; 
Can  you  ask  more  of  me,  Polly  ? ' ' 

POLL — 

" Kiss  Polly— Kiss  Polly." 

"  '  Kiss  POLLY!  '     Now  you  just  try  to  be  witty; 
There's  not  a  soul,  but  you,  in  the  whole  city, 
To  take  a  kiss  from  me — more  is  the  pity, — 
But  here's  a  kiss  for  you,  Polly." 

POLL — 

' '  Polly  II  tell—Polly  II  tell. ' ' 

"Hush,  you  old  bird!  this  is  no  time  for  joking, 
Give  me  no  more  of  your  tiresome  croaking, 


Old  Bachelor  and  Polly.  101 

Now  hush  your  racket,  while  I  go  to  smoking, 
You  are  a  nuisance,  old  Polly." 

POLL — 

'  lBoo-hoo-hoo!    Boo-hoo-hoo! ' ' 

"There  now!  you're  acting,  again,  like  a  woman, — 
Strange  that  a  bird  should  be  so  nearly  human,  — 
Here  is  some  candy,  Poll,  from  your  old  Tru-man, 
Now  wipe  your  tears  away,  Polly." 

POLL — 

' '  Polly1  s  sweet  f    Polly1  s  sweet  ? ' ' 

' '  '  Polly1  s  sweet  ? '    Yes,  Deary,  sweeter  than  honey ; 
Couldn't  be  bought — or  sold,  for  any  money, — 
Again  like  a  woman !  now  isn'  t  that  funny  ? 
Now  go  to  sleep,  pretty  Polly." 

POLL — 

"  If  a- ha- ha,  Ha-ha-lia." 

SOLILOQUY. 

"Isn't  it  strange  there's  so  much  in  a  word, 
Whether  to  cat  or  dog,  pony  or  bird  ? 
So  'tis  with  WOMAN, — at  least  I  have  heard; 
I  can  judge  only  by  POLLY." 


IO2  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


BUMBLE  BEE  AND   CLOVER. 

MR.  Buzzing  Bumble  Bee 
Said  to  Blushing  Clover, 
"You're  as  sweet  as  sweet  can  be, 
May  I  be  your  lover  ? ' ' 

Said  Miss  nodding  little  Clover, 

Unto  Bumble  Bee, 
' '  You'  re  a  handsome,  honest  lover, 

Just  the  one  for  me. 

This  was  in  the  morning  sunny; 

Ere  the  day  was  over, 
He  had  stolen  all  her  honey 

And  forsaken  Clover. 


Dawn.  103 


DAWN. 

IN  amber  slippers,  the  princess  Dawn 
Trips  out  on  the  eastern  sky. 
Queen  Night  with*  her  sable  trail  sweeps  on 
As  the  king  of  Day  draws  nigh. 

Thus  on,  and  on,  'neath  changing  skies 
Their  ceaseless  march  they  keep; 

The  king  with  his  stern  command  to  rise, 
The  queen  with  her  wand  of  sleep. 

The  charming  grace  of  her  star-lit  face 
The  king  can  never  have  seen, 

Though  he  follow  on  at  a  kingly  pace, 
Fair  Dawn  comes  ever  between. 


IO4  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


SUNNY  HOURS. 

"l  MARK  ONLY  THE  SUNNY  HOURS." 

( Inscription  on  an  ancient  sun-dial.) 

AS  the  sunlight  gleams  and  glimmers 
Through  the  shadows  of  the  trees; 
As  some  melodies  are  wafted, 

By  the  storm  and  on  the  breeze; 
As  some  blossoms  smile  in  beauty 

By  each  rough  and  rugged  way, — 
Thus  the  joys  of  life  are  given 
With  each  earth-revolving  day. 

Seldom  are  the  weeds  so  tangled 

But  some  flowers  meet  the  view; 
Seldom  is  the  sky  so  darkened 

But  some  light  is  gleaming  through; 
Seldom  is  the  heart  so  burdened 

That  it  has  no  ray  of  bliss, — 
Let  us  cull  the  best  and  brightest, 

In  a  life  as  brief  as  this. 

Let  us  learn  of  the  sun-dial 

But  to  mark  the  sunny  hours; 
Pass  with  care  the  thorns  and  briars, 

Seeking  for  the  humblest  flowers; 
And  when  shadows  gather  round  us, 

Drape  our  joys  as  with  a  shroud, 
May  we  trust  the  sacred  promise, 

"There  is  light  beyond  the  cloud." 


"Jack  Lightfoot."  105 


"JACK  LIGHTFOOT."* 

'  The  war  horse."— Job  xxxix,  igth  and  asth  verses,  inclusive. 

HOW  many  a  heart  would  be  gladdened, 
If  all  the  true  things  which  are  said, 
Might  fall  on  the  ear  of  the  living, 
Which  never  can  waken  the  dead. 

Not  so  with  this  VETERAN  CHARGER, 
For  all  one  might  write  or  might  say, 

Would  give  the  old  hero  less  pleasure, 
Than  a  ration  of  oats  or  of  hay. 

And  yet,  for  a  service  so  faithful, 

So  valiant,  untiring  and  long; 
It  is  meet  that  we  offer  a  tribute 

In  true  ' '  In  memoriam ' '  song. 

Right  proudly  he  bore  his  commander, 
Where'er  he  was  bidden  to  go; 

He  never  retreated  from  danger, 
And  never  turned  back  from  the  foe. 


*  "  There  was  a  notable  funeral  at  Des  Moines,  Iowa,  the  other  day. 
Old  Jack,  the  last  of  the  war  horses  of  the  rebellion,  was  buried  with 
military  honors,  and  about  fifty  veterans  followed  him  to  the  grave  and 
left  upon  the  mound  of  earth  floral  tributes  to  his  memory.  He  carried 
Colonel,  afterwards  General  Geddes,  through  nearly  fifty  battles,  and 
was  always  eager,  intelligent  and  fearless.  Jack  never  learned  to  re- 
treat. To  the  day  of  his  death  the  sound  of  martial  music  thrilled  him, 
and  he  was  ready  to  respond  to  the  bugle-call," — Chicago  Mail. 
March,  1890. 


io6  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Delighted  at  sound  of  the  cannon; 

The  battle  he  smelled  from  afar, — 
Whenever  he  heard  martial  music 

Jack  Lightfoot  was  ready  for  war. 

He  never  applied  for  a  pension, — 
To  grumble  he  never  was  known, 

Yet  Jack  received  loyal  attention 

In  a  "  Soldier' s  Home  "  *  all  of  his  own. 

Brave  Lightfoot  has  won  his  last  battle, 
And  to  music  of  drum  and  of  fife, 

Been  laid  to  rest  under  the  daisies, 
Discharged  from  the  warfare  of  life. 

We  talk,  write  and  sing  of  our  heroes, 
But  how  much  the  nation  may  owe 

To  Jack,  for  his  speed,  nerve  and  daring, 
The  nation  saved, — never  may  know. 

*  Jack  was  left  to  the  care  of  Captain  James  Miller,  of  Des  Moines. 
For  twenty-two  years  the  horse  marched  in  every  Memorial  Day 
and  Fourth  of  July  procession  in  Des  Moines.  He  was  petted  and 
admired,  and  treated  to  the  best  that  Captain  Miller  could  afford. 


Our  Father 's  Care.  107 


OUR  FATHERS  CARE. 

WE.  praise  our  Father's  loving  care 
And  magnify  our  graces, 
Whene'er  our  skies  are  bright  and  fair, — 

Our  paths  in  pleasant  places; 
Yet  oft  upon  life's  changing  sea 

When  heavy  waves  are  rolling, 
We  tremble  and  forget  that  He 
Is  at  the  helm  controlling, 

Who  holds  the  lightning  in  His  hand, 

Who  gives  the  voice  to  thunder; 
Who  rears  the  mountains  high  and  grand, 

And  spreads  the  valleys  under; 
And  yet,  who  heeds  the  sparrow's  fall, 

And  ceaselessly  is  keeping 
A  tender  watch-care  over  all, 

In  waking  or  in  sleeping. 

When  dark  storms  gather  o'er  the  way 

We  wisely  may  remember, 
While  each  year  has  its  blooming  May, 

Each  has  its  drear  December. 
Yet  frost  and  snow  shall  not  abide, 

For  ceaseless  change  discloses, 
The  coming  of  the  fair  Springtide 

With  all  her  wealth  of  roses. 


loS  Miscellaneous  Poems 


TRAILING  ARBUTUS* 

MY  heart  is  strangely  moved  to-night 
By  this  love-bearing  token; 
As  if  a  ray  of  golden  light 

In  ecstacy  had  broken, 
Through  clouded  sky  to  simply  tell 

The  sun  beyond  was  shining, 

Proclaiming  truth  we  love  so  well, 

That  clouds  have  silver  lining. 

When  trials  fill  the  passing  day, 

Kind  acts  seem  the  completer; 
When  thorns  are  springing  in  the  way, 

Bright  blossoms  seem  the  sweeter. 
And  thus  this  fragrant  little  gift 

Comes  with  a  double  duty, 
A  curtain  from  my  sky  to  lift, 

And  to  reveal  its  beauty. 

Perchance  I  ne'er  in  life  may  meet 
The  friend  who  sent  the  token; 

The  missive  brought  a  message  sweet, 
Although  no  word  was  spoken. 

And  thus  I  wing  these  lines  to  say, 
If  e'er  they  find  the  giver, — 

May  flowers  brighten  all  thy  way 

And  LOVE  ABIDE  FOREVER. 


*  Received  anonymously  by  mail. 


The  Olden   Time.  109 


THE  OLDEN  TIME. 

IN  olden  times,  ere  daughters  went 
From  the  parental  home, 
To  kindle  fires  upon  the  hearths, 

Which  each  might  call  her  own, 
The  neighbors  used  to  gather  in 

And  needles  deftly  ply, 
In  quilting  diamonds,  hearts  and  stars, 
To  please  the  tasteful  eye; 

Indulging  oft  in  quiet  jest, 

About  the  coming  wedding, 
While  blushes  singled  from  the  rest, 

The  maiden  at  whose  bidding 
The  merry  quilting  bee  was  made, 

And  neighbors  all  about, 
Joined  in  so  cheerfully  to  give 

The  lass  her  "setting  out." 

In  those  days  mothers  didn't  buy 

Rare  velvets,  silks  and  laces, 
But  always  gave  a  good  supply 

Of  sheets  and  pillow  cases. 
For  portiere  or  lambrequin, 

For  them  'twas  very  certain, 
That  pretty  chintz  was  good  enough 

To  make  a  stylish  curtain. 


no  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

The  chandelier  with  radiant  gleam, — 

They  did  not  know  about  it; 
But  tallow  dip  with  milder  beam, 

Did  just  as  well  without  it. 
With  snuffers  bright  to  trim  the  light, 

Brave  lovers  did  not  falter, 
Nor  maidens  shrink  their  troth  to  plight, 

Upon  Love's  changeless  altar. 

By  dancing  flames  of  open  fires, 

Where  bright  andirons  glisten, 
The  fancied  pictures  love  inspires, 

An  artist  might  not  fasten; 
They  had  no  gems  by  Raphael, — 

That  mattered  not  at  all, 
Where  "sweet  home"  pictures  were  within, 

Not  hung  upon  the  wall. 

Thus,  for  our  worthy  ancestors, 

John,  and  his  charming  Mary; 
Rare  bric-a-brac  and  statuette, 

Were  quite  unnecessary; 
Unused  to  fuss  and  feathers 

It  was  their  opinion  that 
Pretty  birds  were  made  for  singing — 

Not  to  wear  upon  the  hat. 

Of  diamonds,  Mary  only  knew 
The  diamond  which  expresses, 

The  love  of  warm  hearts  quilted  in 
To  scraps  of  pretty  dresses. 


The  Olden   Time,  in 

This  gave  a  value  all  untold 

Unto  the  patchwork  olden, 
When  pewter  served  as  silverware, 

And  brass  was  good  as  golden. 

They  made  no  wedding-gift  display, 

Which  often  means  to  borrow 
What  one  can  not  afford  to-day 

To  be  returned  to-morrow. 
But  churn  and  reel,  and  spinning-wheel 

Would  quietly  be  carried, 
With  kindred  treasures  to  their  home 

Soon  as  the  twain  were  married. 

Then,  winsome  Mary  did  not  need 

A  courtly  ' '  maid  of  honor, ' ' 
To  train  her  trail,  undo  her  veil, 

In  state,  to  wait  upon  her. 
They  just  walked  simply  side  by  side 

And  pledged  at  Hymen's  altar, 
Where  lover  won  a  helpful  bride, 

The  lass not  a  defaulter. 


ii2  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


MORNING  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 

THE  fields  are  all  over, 
White  dotted  with  clover, 
So  recently  darkened  and  still; 
Where  bees  are  now  coming, 
With  musical  humming, 
Their  honey  cups  eager  to  fill. 

Each  brown  little  fellow, 

Tinged  lightly  with  yellow, 
In  diligent  search  may  be  seen; 

His  errand  so  sunny, 

To  find  bread  and  honey, 
And  carry  it  home  to  his  queen. 

The  sun  is  distilling 

Dew  diamonds,  and  filling 
The  air  with  a  fragrance  most  sweet; 

Bright  jewels  adorning 

The  paths  of  the  morning 
Where  Rest  and  Activity  meet 

The  gay  Morning  Glories 

Are  whispering  stories 
To  butterflies  burnished  in  gold. 

' '  Pink,  purple,  or  pearly, 

We  wake  bright  and  early, 
Our  fairy-like  tents  to  unfold. ' ' 


Morning  in  the  Country.  113 

With  russet  breast  swelling, 

Cock  Robin  is  telling 
His  mate  it  is  time  to  arise; 

The  lark  was  before  him, 

Is  now  soaring  o'er  him 
And  flinging  his  song  to  the  skies. 

The  swallows  are  flitting 

And  darting,  or  sitting 
To  chatter  fresh  news  to  their  wives; 

The  ducks  have  awakened, 

Their  morning  bath  taken, 
The  greatest  delight  of  their  lives. 

The  cattle  are  lowing, 

And  leisurely  going 
To  pastures  inviting  and  green, 

While  singing,  and  turning 

From  milking  to  churning, 
Fair  Molly,  the  milkmaid,  is  seen; 

While  Robert,  her  lover, 

Goes  on  through  the  clover, 
To  harvest  field,  gleaming  like  gold, 

And  as  she  is  singing 

Love's  echoes  are  bringing 
His  whistled  "sweet  story  of  old." 

Oh!  roseate  dawning 
Of  life's  early  morning! 
Go  sing  with  the  lark,  while  ye  may; 


114  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Soon  thou  wilt  be  nearing 

The  twilight,  and  hearing 

The  nightingale's  soberer  lay. 


N 


JEALOUSY. 

(DIALOGUE  SONG.) 
ARABELLA — 

'AY!  do  not  speak! — 'tis  all  in  vain! 

I've  learned  you  love  another; 
I  saw  you  meet  her  at  the  train 
While  waiting  for  my  brother. 
I  saw  the  quickly  stolen  kiss, — 

Hands  clasped  with  eager  pressing, 
A  glance  which  could  mean  only  this, 
A  heart  throb  of  caressing. 

"A  tender  vine  is  confidence, — 

When  tendrils  once  are  broken, 
No  act  can  e'er  make  recompense, 

No  word  that  can  be  spoken, 
Will  make  them  twine  so  lovingly 

As  though  they  ne'er  were  severed; 
This  charmed  tie  for  you  and  me 

Is  broken  now  forever. 

"  I  thought  your  heart  was  all  my  own, 
When  first  our  troth  was  plighted; 


Jealousy.  115 

'  Tis  well  its  faithlessness  was  known 

Before  we  were  united. 
For  when  I  pledge  in  Hymen's  bans, 

In  life  ne'er  to  be  parted, 
It  must  be  with  a  noble  man, — 

A  lover  single  hearted. 

"And  now,  farewell!     This  foolish  tear 

Will  wash  away  my  sorrow, 
And  I  shall  rally, — never  fear! 

And  wear  a  smile  to-morrow. 
I'll  pray  for  blessings  from  above 

On  one  so  fondly  cherished; 
But  good-bye,  to  the  former  love 

From  this  hour  it  has  perished." 

REGINALD — 

"Aha!  my  love!  my  sweet!  my  own! 

And  have  you  thus  been  grieving, 
Because  I  loved  another  one, 

As  you  were  fain  believing  ? 
I  met  her  at  the  train  'tis  true, 

And  also  true, — I  kissed  her; 
Would  you  forgive  me  if  you  knew 

The  darling  was — my  sister  ? 

' '  And  dearest,  my  poor  aching  heart 

Has  been  itself  deceiving, 
I  saw  that  handsome  man  depart, 

Just  as  the  train  was  leaving. 


n6  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

You  passed  me  by  and  took  his  arm, 
I  thought  you  loved  another, 

And  now  I  find  my  wild  alarm 
Was  all  about — your  brother." 

ARABELLA — 

"Forgive." 
REGINALD — 

"Forget" 
ARABELLA — 

"'Tis  very  plain 
That  we  have  been  mistaken." 
REGINALD— 

"  And  shall  we  e'er  conclude  again 

That  each  has  been  forsaken  ?  ' ' 
ARABELLA — 

"At  least,  my  love,  I  promise  this 

When  you  and  I  shall  marry, 
That  you  your  sister  Belle  may  kiss," 
REGINALD — 

"  And  you — your  brother  Harry." 


Reading.  117 


READING. 

r  I  "'HERE  are  some  debts  which  gold  can  pay,- 

1       Others,  that  one  must  owe,  alway; 
Of  these,  for  value  that  has  been 
Dropped  from  the  point  of  priceless  pen. 

The  graceful  form  of  poesy 
Hath  ever  a  sweet  charm  for  me; 
Some  buds  and  blossoms  I  entwine 
In  simple  wreaths, — and  call  them  mine. 

I  may  not  cross  the  ocean's  main, 
Or  scale  the  Alps,  or  roam  the  plain, — 
May  ne'er  behold  Rome's  sculptured  halls, 
Or  gaze  on  ancient  ruined  walls. 

And  yet  in  my  secluded  home, 
The  varied  lands  of  earth  I  roam; 
So  quickly  roam,  and  back  again; — 
My  faithful  guide,  the  trusty  pen. 

Earth's  gilded  ways  I  may  not  know, 
Her  jewels  come,  and  flash,  and  go; 
For  this  abiding  joy  I  plead, 
Give  me  mind,  heart,  and  time  to  read. 


n8  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


THOUGHT  PICTURES. 

I  CLOSE  my  eyes,  and  yet  I  see 
Scenes  beautiful  and  bright; 
The  fairest  visions  come  to  me 
In  darkest  hours  of  night. 

And  do  you  ask  what  magic  wand 
Such  imagery  hath  wrought  ? 

I  answer,  that  the  master  hand 
That  paints  for  me,  is  Thought. 

He  bears  me  o'er  the  boundless  main, 

Without  fear  of  disaster; 
And  past  the  fleetest  lightning  train 

He  flashes  even  faster. 

Then  borne  in  magic  diving-bells, 

I  plunge  beneath  the  sea; 
Where  amber,  pearls  and  rarest  shells 

He  quickly  paints  for  me. 

I  scale  with  him  the  mountain  high, 

Without  a  fear  of  falling, 
Then  bound  to  burning  crater  nigh 

To  view  its  depths  appalling. 


Thought  Pictures.  119 

Borne  on  the  wings  of  passing  cloud, 

I  sail  through  azure  skies, 
And  shower  pearls  to  thirsty  worlds 

Where  fairest  verdure  lies. 

On  phantom  wings  far,  far  away, 

To  lands  I  ne'er  may  see,        - 
Thought  bears  me,  and  in  grand  array 

Spreads  out  their  scenes  for  me. 

I  cross  with  him  the  mystic  tide 
Which  hath  an  unknown  shore; 

Soon  anchor  on  the  golden  side 
And  roam  its  city  o'er. 

The  pearly  gates  are  open  wide, 

And,  rapture!  there  I  see 
My  loved  and  lost  ones  glorified, 

Waiting  to  welcome  me. 

In  all  the  vast  redeemed  throng 

Within  that  city  fair, 
Not  one  is  idle,  yet  not  one 

Is  burdened  with  a  care. 

In  mansions  fine,  through  charming  bowers, 

Or  by  life's  sparkling  tide 
We  wander  'midst  the  fairest  flowers, 

And  I  am  satisfied. 

I  hear  the  songs  that  angels  sing 
Around  the  Father's  throne, 


120  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Then  back  to  earth  rare  pictures  bring 
Of  Heaven,  all  my  own. 

Aided  by  all  I've  read  or  known, 
With  wondrous  fancy  wrought; 

I  thus  hold  pictures,  all  my  own, 
Transcribed,  impressed  by  thought. 


A  DREAM. 

OR,   WHO  STOLE  CLARA' 

QTR ANGER,  have  you  seen  our  Clara? 
vj     She  was  here  but  yesterday; 
Laughing,  prattling  in  her  cradle, 

While  I  watched  the  dimples  play; 
With  a  mother's  fondest  fancy 

I  interpreted  her  song, 
And  she  made  our  home  a  castle 

Where  the  bars  of  love  were  strong; 
But  some  one  has  stolen  Clara, 

Have  you  seen  her  in  the  throng  ? 
****** 
Now  I  mind  me!     She  was  larger, 

And  went  merrily  to  school; 
Carried  flowers  to  her  teacher, 

With  her  basket,  slate  and  rule. 
But  I  have  not  seen  her  coming 

From  the  school  in  many  a  day, 


A  Dream.  121 

And  my  eyes  are  dim  with  watching, 

And  the  evening  sky  is  gray. 
Some  one  must  have  stolen  Clara! 

Have  you  met  her  on  the  way  ? 
****** 
I  mistake, — she  was  a  maiden, — 

( It  is  strange  I  should  forget! ) 
And  she  filled  our  home  with  music 

Where  I  seem  to  see  her  yet; 
Tall  and  graceful,  fair  and  gentle, 

Sunny  as  a  cloudless  day, 
Sweetest  girl  in  all  the  country, 

I  am  sure  sir,  you  would  say; 
But  some  one  has  stolen  Clara, 

And  has  carried  her  away. 

"Why,"  you  ask  me,  "do  I  think  so?" 

Why!  I've  hunted  here  and  there, 
In  the  nursery, — chamber, — garden — 

And  can' t  find  her  anywhere. 
And  my  sun  will  soon  be  setting, 

For  my  hair  is  turning  gray, 
And  I  want  to  find  my  darling — 

What  is  that,  sir,  that  you  say  ? 
' '  Father  Time,  and  a  young  lover 

Must  have  stolen  her  away  ?  ' ' 

What  sir!  you!  you  were  the  robber? 

And  the  lady  by  your  side 
Is  my  daughter  ? — It  is  Clara, 

And  you  stole  her  for  your  bride. 


122  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

11  Sweetest  girl  in  all  the  country," 

Thus  "you  thought  as  well  as  I," 
Can  I  ' '  blame  you  that  you  stole  her 

When  that  was  the  reason  why  ?  " 
Truly  sir, — you  quite  confuse  me, 

For  how  can  I  make  reply  ? 

******* 
"Wake  up!  Ganma;  oo's  been  deamin', 

And  been  talkin'  in  'oor  seep," 
And  I  woke,  to  find  my  darlings, — 

Clara's  babies,  at  my  feet. 


A  SONG   OF  SEVENS. 

TO  JOHN  G.   WHITTIER  ON  HIS  SEVENTY-SEVENTH 
BIRTHDAY. 

OF  the  rarest  and  fairest  of  rhythmical  gems, 
Which  the  author  has  lavishly  given; 
'Mid  the  brightest  to  shine  in  her  diadem, 
Is  Jean  Ingelow's  "Song  of  the  Seven." 

How  faithfully  painted,  her  pictures  of  life, 

From  its  dawn,  until  shadowy  even, 
Child,  maiden,  bride,  mother,  and  widowed  wife, 

All  shown  in  her  seven  times  seven. 

But  thine  is  a  truer,  more  beautiful  song, 
Unto  whom  hath  been  graciously  given, 


A  Song  of  Sevens.  123 

The  power,  life's  melody  still  to  prolong 
Even  on  to  thy  SEVENTY-SEVEN. 

Its  chords  shall  reecho  again  and  again, 
Though  thy  harp  be  laid  silently  down, 

For  children  unborn,  shall  take  up  the  refrain 
Of  the  songs  that  have  won  thee  renown. 

MAUD  MULLER  will  rake  in  the  meadow  the  hay, 
Dream  of  joys  that  may  never  be  given; 

The  Judge  will  sigh  on,  in  the '  'might  have  been' '  way, 
Long  after  thy  seventy-seven. 

DAME  FRIETCHIE  will  wave  her  loved  banner  on 
high, 

With  a  courage  born  only  of  Heaven, — 
Unnumbered  with  heroes;  yet  ready  to  die, 

Ere  our  flag  to  its  foes  should  be  given. 

With  the  sword  of  the  pen  thou  hast  valiantly  fought, 
Fearless  words  for  the  right  ever  spoken; 

A  nation  has  followed  thy  beckoning  thought, 
And  the  fetters  of  slaves  have  been  broken. 

May  thy  days  still  remaining  be  restful  and  long; 

May  thy  sky  glow  the  brightest  at  even, — 
When  sunset  is  past,  thou  shalt  waken  to  song, 

In  the  beautiful  mansions  in  Heaven. 


124  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


NEIGHBOR  AND  I. 

MY  neighbor's  charming  home  I  see, 
With  stately  tower  above  it; 
And  then  the  hardest  law  for  me, 
Is  this,  ' '  Thou  shalt  not  covet. ' ' 

My  cottage  is  so  plain  and  bare; 

His  palace  walls  are  shining; 
My  days  are  pressed  with  toil  and  care; 

In  ease  he  is  reclining. 

My  eyes  are  dim,  I  cannot  see 

Why  constant  wearing  labor, 
Should  press  so  heavily  on  me — 

So  lightly  on  my  neighbor. 
****** 
Such  was  my  plaint,  one  year  ago; 

My  neighbor  was  concealing 
The  dark,  consuming,  fearful  woe 

His  life  is  now  revealing. 

Thus,  while  I  saw  his  shining  gains, 

I  did  not  know  his  losses; 
I  could  not  feel  his  secret  pains, 

Or  bear  his  hidden  crosses. 


Neighbor  and  I.  125 

My  sleep  was  sweet,  though  I  was  borne 

Daily  upon  care's  billow; 
I  did  not  know  about  the  thorn 

Within  my  neighbor's  pillow. 

Beside  the  crosses  that  we  bear, 

If  we  could  measure  other's, 
We  should  unneeded  pity  spare, 

From  lighter  burdened  brothers. 

While  often  those  who  seem  to  be 
Earth's  choicest  blessings  sharing, 

Would  claim  our  tender  sympathy, 
For  sorrows  they  are  bearing. 

We  see  some  shining  ship  afar, 

With  sails  and  banners  flying, 
But  may  not  know  what  burdens  are 

Down  in  the  deep  hold  lying. 

I  would  not  dare  exchange  my  own, 

My  hopes,  my  joys,  my  labor, 
For  jeweled  crown  and  gilded  throne 

And,  sorrows  of  my  neighbor. 


126  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


EASTER  LILIES* 

YE  beautiful  Lilies  of  Easter! 
Your  mission  is  two-fold  to-day: 
To  gladden  the  hearts  of  the  many, 

Who  gather  to  worship  and  pray; — 
Proclaiming  a  risen  Redeemer, 

Who  burst  through  the  mould  and  the  gloom, 
And  rose  in  a  beauty  resplendent, 

Light-crowned,  from  the  depths  of  the  tomb. 

Again,  on  a  mission  most  tender, 

Borne  away  from  the  gaze  of  the  throng, 
To  a  chamber  of  languishing  trial 

Ye  come,  like  the  breath  of  a  song; 
Proclaiming  a  risen  Redeemer, 

By  beauty  and  fragrance  most  rare, 
Who  had  borne  for  us,  sorrow  and  anguish, 

A  heavenly  home  to  prepare. 

Ah!  beautiful  Lilies  of  Easter! 

Inspiring  to  anthems  of  praise! 
Ah!  beautiful  Lilies  of  Easter! 

The  languishing  spirit  to  raise 
Through  faith,  to  the  risen  Redeemer, 

O,  teach  us  a  lesson  of  trust, 
To  look  to  our  glorified  Master, 

Away  from  the  tomb  and  the  dust. 

PORT  JERVIS,  April  6,  1890. 
*  Brought  from  the  sanctuary  to  the  sick  room. 


The  Eagle  s  Nest.  127 


THE  EAGLE'S  NEST. 

"  As  the  eagle  stirreth  up  her  nest." — Deut.  xxxii,  n. 

THE  eagle  stirreth  up  her  nest, 
Compelling  use  of  pinions 
Destined  to  bear  a  dauntless  crest, 

Over  earth's  broad  dominions. 
For  real, — but  not  seeming  good, 

The  mother  bird  is  bringing 
To  brink  of  crag  her  timid  brood 
Despite  their  helpless  clinging. 

In  all  this  seeming  cruelty, 

She  tenderly  is  caring, — 
Urging  her  eaglets  first  to  fly, 

Then  swooping  down  and  bearing 
A  frightened  fledgeling  on  her  wings, 

Above  the  depths  appalling, 
Then  safely  back  to  eyrie  brings 

Her  charge,  from  fear  of  falling. 

And  thus  again,  and  yet  again 

She  presses  to  endeavor; 
Stirs  up  the  nest,  that  lulls  to  rest, 

Yet  aids  and  watches  ever 
Until  she  sees  each  peerless  bird, 

So  famed  in  ancient  story, 
Soar  from  the  nest  her  love  had  stirred, 

An  eagle  in  its  glory. 


128  Miscellaneous  Poems. 


COMPENSA  TIONS. 

THOUGH  my  dwelling  were  a  palace, 
And  my  fortune  wealth  untold, 
And  my  couch  were  draped  in  damask 

Curtained  round  with  lace  of  gold; 
These  could  not  assure  the  comfort, 
While  the  stars  their  vigils  keep, 
Which  is  granted  to  the  cotter 
With  his  toil-rewarding  sleep. 

(Eccles.  v,  12.) 

Though  my  board  were  spread  with  viands 

Costliest  that  wealth  could  buy, 
And  my  service  were  the  rarest 

Art  and  nature  could  supply; 
These  could  not  command  the  relish 

Which  attends  the  humble  spread, 
Where  tense  nerve  and  sweating  forehead 

Win  and  sweeten  daily  bread. 

(Ps.  cxxviii,  2.) 

Though  my  coach  were  richly  cushioned 
And  my  "Coat  of  Arms "  should  be 

Recognized  throughout  a  kingdom, 
And  declare  high  pedigree — 

These  could  not  impart  the  vigor 
Which  the  sturdy  toilers  know, 


Compensations.  129 

As  they  follow  in  the  furrow, 
Gleaming  plowshare,  to  and  fro. 

(Eccles.  v,  18.) 

They  who  soar  to  high  achievement 

In  the  charming  realm  of  song, 
Mount  not  there  by  idly  dreaming, 

But,  toil  wearily  and  long. 
Myriad  notes  must  die  in  silence 

Ere  the  world  is  thrilled  with  joy, 
And  the  struggling  toiling  singer, 

May  the  heaven-born  gift  employ. 

They  who  carve  the  noblest  statues, 

Must  the  hardest  rock  conform 
To  the  soul's  unseen  ideal, 

Eloquent  in  grace  of  form; 
When  at  last,  the  work  completed 

May  the  world' s  applause  command, 
God  hath  furnished  skill  and  marble, — 

Man,  the  chisel- wielding  hand. 

Ere  the  "masterpiece"  in  beauty, 

On  the  canvas  may  unfold, 
It  must  fall  from  brush  immortal 

On  the  canvas  of  the  soul. 
And  whate'er  the  picture  painted, — 

Simplest  flower,  or  mountain  high, 
Every  tint,  or  light  or  shadow, 

Must  be  gathered  from  the  sky. 


130  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

Thus  hath  toil  her  compensations, 

And  the  talents  that  are  given 
Double  only  by  their  using — 

Gain  on  earth,  to  gift  from  Heaven. 
Wealth,  to  bless  must  yoke  with  labor, 

Toil,  to  bless  must  win  reward, 
And  the  master  and  the  servant, 

Both  find  pattern  in  our  Lord. 


ANTE  AND  POST  MORTEM. 

LET  us  serve  the  living  present, 
Which  will  quickly  pass  away, 
Waiting  not  for  grand  to-morrow, 

Serve  in  trifles  of  to-day. 
Often  has  the  pulse  been  quickened, 
And  life's  failing  fountain  stirred, 
By  a  gentle  act  of  kindness, 
Or  a  single  loving  word. 

If  we  turn  unto  the  poets, 

Of  great  Homer  it  was  said: 
"  Him  who  begged  his  bread  when  living, 

Seven  cities  claimed  when  dead;" 
And  that  by  his  tragic  dying 

Only,  were  due  laurels  won 
For  the  rare  undying  genius 

Of  the  poet,  Chatterton. 


Ante  and  Post  Mortem.  131 

Better  far  to  cheer  the  living 

Than. to  praise  or  mourn  the  dead; 
More  to  life  than  shaft  of  marble, 

Is  the  pillow  for  the  head. 
More  to  heart  Love's  faithful  token, 

Making  all  its  joy  complete, 
Than  a  costly  mausoleum, 

When  its  pulse  has  ceased  to  beat. 

Have  we  loving  words  to  offer  ? 

Let  them  carry  solace  now; 
Have  we  fragrant  flowers  to  gather  ? 

Let  them  grace  the  living  brow. 
We  shall  serve  our  loved  ones  better, 

If  we  do  not  blindly  save 
Treasure  stolen  from  life's  pathway, 

To  be  strown  upon  the  grave. 

' '  Dust  to  dust. "     It  is  but  ' '  ashes, ' ' 

And  whate'er  one's  living  powers, 
Dust  shall  yet  through  Nature's  courses, 

Nourish  rootlets  for  earth's  flowers. 
Let  us  brighten  all  life's  journey, 

Heaven  hath  robes  and  mansions  fair, 
Let  us  fill  the  earth  with  music, 

Angel  choirs  are  singing  there. 

Let  us  carve  upon  the  marble 

Of  the  monument  of  Time, 
Pictures  fair  of  Love's  devotion; 

Records  of  a  life  sublime. 


132  Miscellaneous  Poems. 

When  this  fleeting  life  is  ended, 
And  we  reach  those  mansions  fair, 

Just  and  true  will  be  the  record, 
Angels  have  engraven  there. 


THE  COURT  OF  THE  MUSES. 


A    COLLOQUY, 

PREPARED  FOR   YOUNG   LADIES'  ENTERTAINMENT. 


1  CALLIOPE. 

2  CLIO. 

3  MELPOMENE. 


CHARACTERS. 
NINE  MUSES. 

4  EUTERPE. 

5  ERATO. 


7  URANIA. 

8  THALIA. 


6    TERPSICHORE.    9    POLYMNIA. 


Two  OR  MORE  ATTENDANT  FAIRIES. 


GUESTS. 


SPRING. 

SUMMER. 

AUTUMN. 

WINTER. 

FAME. 

NIGHT. 


MORNING. 

NAIAD. 

FASHION. 

DISSIPATION. 

TEMPERANCE. 

LIBERTY. 


DRESS. 

MUSES — Simply  attired  in  white.       Broad  sashes,  with 

name  of  each  Muse  in  gilt  letters,  gives  a 

pretty  effect 
FAIRIES — Young  misses  in  white  or  very  light  pink.     May 

be  arrayed  according  to  fancy.     May  have 

miniature  wings. 


134  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

GUESTS. 

SPRING — With  ornaments  and  gifts  of  flowers. 

SUMMER — Flowers,  and  grain. 

AUTUMN — Autumn  leaves,  and  gifts  of  fruit. 

WINTER — Mantled  in  white,  with  frosted  hair. 

FAME — Richly  dressed,  but  plain. 

NIGHT — A  brunette,  with  flowing  hair,  robed  in  black, 

ornamented  with  stars. 
MORNING — A  blonde,  robed  in  light  pink,  with  imitation 

dew-drops. 
NAIAD — In  simplest  robe  of  green,  bearing  pearls,  shells, 

and  water-lilies. 
FASHION — Gaudily  attired,  with  grotesque  fashions  of  the 

past  made  prominent. 
DISSIPATION — Dressed  in  garnet. 
TEMPERANCE — In  white,  or  pale  blue. 
LIBERTY — Large  fine  figure,  with  plain  rich  dress.     Must 

be  draped  in,  or  bear  the  American  flag. 

MUSIC. 

Music  may  be  either  vocal,  or  instrumental,  by  the 
Muses,  or  others  summoned  to  their  aid. 

The  dress  of  characters,  the  music,  and  the  effect  of 
the  Colloquy,  must  depend  largely  upon  the  taste  of  those 
having  it  in  charge. 

MUSES  ASSEMBLED  IN  COURT. 
ENTER  FAIRY. 

FAIRY — Gracious  Muses,  there  are  guests  in  the 
outer  chamber,  awaiting  admission  into  thy  Celestial 
Court. 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  135 

MUSES — IN  CONCERT — 

Welcome  to  the  Muses'  home, 
Any  who  may  hither  come, 
Bearing  tokens  of  their  worth, 
To  the  children  of  the  Earth. 

FAIRY — Spring  cometh,  asking  audience  of  the 
Muses. 

MUSES — ALL — 

We  will  welcome  gentle  Spring, 
If  some  token  she  will  bring, 
Which  shall  prove  her  real  worth, 
To  the  children  of  the  Earth. 

ENTER  SPRING — 

Fairest  of  flowers  I  bring  to  thee, 
Weave  now  I  pray  thee,  a  rhyme  for  me. 

MUSE  IST — 

Bright  and  beautiful  form  of  Spring, 
Gladly  we  greet  thee  again; 
Fresh  and  fair  are  the  flowers  ye  bring, 
Decking  each  hill  and  plain. 

MUSE  3D — 

Gems  of  beauty  are  everywhere  seen, 
Scattered  from  thy  rich  urn; 
The  fields  thou  art  robing  in  mantles  of  green, 
In  token  of  thy  return. 


136  The  Court  of  tJie  Muses. 

MUSE  6TH — 

Gladly  we  list  to  the  songs  of  birds, 

Which  ever  rejoice  in  thee; 
Their  blithesome  notes  of  welcome  are  heard, 

In  every  bower  and  tree. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Then  gladly  we  all,  at  this  joyous  time, 
Will  welcome  thee,  beautiful  Spring; 

And  gaily  we'll  weave  thee  a  garland,  in  rhyme, 
In  return  for  the  flowers  ye  bring. 

Rest  awhile  with  our  joyous  throng, 

And  list  to  the  notes  of  a  Fairy  song. 

Attendant  Fairy  takes  the  gift  and  places  it  upon 
a  receptacle  for  gifts. 

MUSIC. 

ENTER  FAIRY — Summer  cometh  also,  and  crav- 
eth  admittance. 

MUSES— ALL — 

Summer  cometh  after  Spring, 
Some  fair  token  she  must  bring, 
Which  shall  also  prove  her  worth 
To  the  children  of  the  Earth. 

ENTER  SUMMER — 

The  golden  grain  I  ripen  for  thee; 
Both  fruit,  and  blossom,  accept  from  me. 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  137 


MUSE  5TH- 


Summer,  brightest  of  the  seasons, 
Welcome  'midst  our  joyous  train; 

We  accept  thy  worthy  off 'ring, 

Crown,  entwined  with  golden  grain. 

MUSE  4TH — 

Spring  has  brought  us  fairer  blossoms 
Than  we  find  within  thy  bowers; 

Yet  we  know  that  Summer's  brightness, 
Can  alone  mature  the  flowers. 

MUSE  STH — 

May  Earth's  children  all  remember, 
When  the  golden  sheaves  they  bind, 

That  the  harvest  fast  is  passing, 
And  the  Summer  soon  will  end. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Glad  we  greet  thee,  radiant  Summer, 

Tarry  now  amidst  our  throng; 
And  in  token  of  thy  coming, 

We  will  give  a  greeting  song. 

Attendant  Fairy  takes  the  gift. 

MUSIC. 

ENTER   FAIRY — Hither  cometh   Autumn,    who 
also  desireth  admittance. 


138  TJie  Court  of  the  Muses. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Thou  may'st  also  usher  Autumn, 
If  some  token,  rich  in  worth, 

She  shall  bring,  which  shall  proclaim  her 
Welcome  messenger  to  Earth. 

ENTER  AUTUMN — 

Richest  of  fruits  I  bring  to  thee, 
Hast  thou  a  cluster  of  rhymes  for  me  ? 

MUSE  STH — 

Welcome,  richly  laden  Autumn; 

Tempting  token  thou  dost  bring, 
Which  must  win  thee  ready  welcome 

From  a  peasant,  or  a  king. 

MUSE  4TH — 

Thou  hast  painted  a  fanciful  garment 

For  every  bower  and  tree; 
In  return  for  thy  diligent  labor, 

We  will  weave  a  bright  Poem  for  thee. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Glad  we  greet  thee,  glorious  Autumn; 

Richest  praise  to  thee  belongs, 
Linger  yet  within  our  palace, 

While  we  honor  thee  with  songs. 

Attendant  Fairy  takes  the  gift. 
MUSIC. 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  139 

ENTER  FAIRY  —  Winter  cometh,   seeking  favor 
of  the  Muses. 

MUSES  —  ALL  — 

We  will  freely  welcome  Winter, 
If  some  gift  she  bring  to  prove 

That  she,  like  her  sister  Seasons, 
Comes  in  mercy,  and  in  love. 

ENTER  WINTER  — 

A  garment  of  purity  bring  I  to  thee, 
Sing  now  I  pray  thee,  a  song  for  me. 

MUSE  30  — 

Thou  art  called  relentless  Winter; 

We  have  heard  of  thee  of  old, 
And  they  say  thy  breath  is  chilling, 

And  thy  heart  is  dead,  and  cold. 

MUSE     TH  — 


But  the  story  I  believe  not,  — 
Forms  so  beautiful  deceive  not; 

I  will  give  thee  all  thy  due; 
I  admire  thy  sparkling  brightness, 
And  thine  ample  robe  of  whiteness, 

Sure  must  warm,  and  nourish  too. 

MUSE  IST  — 

Still,  thou  teachest  all  a  lesson, 
Which  shall  prove  thy  real  worth, 


140  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

Brighter  than  the  flowers  of  spring-time, 
Richer  than  the  fruits  of  Earth. 

MUSE  7TH — 

Would  the  child  of  Earth  remember, 
The  Great  Giver  but  for  thee  ? 

Would  he  learn  to  prize  the  blessings, 
Which  are  lavished,  full  and  free  ? 

MUSES — ALL — 

Glad  we  greet  thee,  faithful  Winter, 
Muses  e'er  will  truthful  be, — 

List  to  tones  of  richest  music, 
Which  we  give  to  honor  thee. 

MUSIC. 
ENTER  FAIRY — Fame  awaiteth  admittance. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Bid  her  enter,  if  she  bear 
Worthy  token,  rich  and  rare. 

ENTER  FAME — 

I  bear  the  names  of  the  children  of  Earth, 

Who  have  reached  a  pinnacle  grand; 
Not  mines  of  gold,  nor  royal  birth 

Admit  to  my  wonderful  land; 
Though  his  course  be  brief,  yet  he  liveth  in  rhyme, 

Who  beareth  my  magical  name; 
He  never  dies  on  the  shores  of  Time, 

Whose  name  is  enrolled  by  Fame. 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  141 


MUSE    TH  — 


Thy  land  is  indeed  a  wonderful  land, 

Yet  alas!  for  the  child  of  Earth, 
Who  toils  to  reach  thy  pinnacle  grand, 

If  he  has  not  personal  worth. 

MUSE  20  — 

From  the  peasant  in  his  cottage, 
To  the  king  upon  his  throne,  — 

His  life's  in  vain  who  toils  for  Fame, 
And  seeks  her  praise  alone. 

Third  Muse  takes  the  scroll  from  Fame  and  reads. 

SCROLL  OF  FAME. 
Strange  names  are  written  on  thy  scroll, 

Here  is  one  famed  for  song, 
And  that  is  well,  but  here  is  one 

Famous  for  crime,  and  wrong. 
One  is  made  famous  by  his  wit,  — 

Another  for  his  learning, 
Just  by  a  critic,  famous  for 

His  wonderful  discerning. 
Here  is  a  famous  traveler, 

A  hero  of  renown; 
And  here  a  famous  fiddler 

Just  by  a  famous  clown. 
And  here  are  famous  poets,  some 

Who  died  from  maddening  wine; 
Favored  by  Muses,  yet  they  served 

As  slaves  at  Bacchus'  shrine. 


142  T/ie  Court  of  tlie  Muses. 

And  here  are  famous  statesmen, 

Who  framed  infamous  laws; 
And  also  famous  orators, 

Who  wakened  loud  applause. 
And  here  are  famous  clergymen, 

Honored  for  noble  lives; 
And  here  a  bishop,  famous  for — 

A  score  or  more  of  wives. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Enough!  enough!  the  scroll  of  Fame 

The  Muses  must  disown, 
Until  thou  bearest  us  the  name 
Of  the  good  and  great,  alone. 

[EXIT  FAME.] 

ENTER  FAIRY — Night  cometh,   and  would  see 
the  Celestial  Muses. 

MUSES— ALL — 

Welcome  to  our  spacious  hall, 
Night,  enrobed  in  darkest  pall. 

ENTER  NIGHT — 

Stars  and  rest  I  bring  to  thee; 
Hast  thou  a  soothing  rhyme  for  me  ? 

MUSE  20 — 

Rest  thou  bringest  for  the  careworn, 

Dearer  gift  than  all  beside; 
Quiet  to  the  weary  spirit, 
With  the  hours  of  eventide. 


The  Court  of  tJte  Muses.  143 

MUSE  7TH — 

Starry  gems  are  brightly  shining 
On  the  sable  brow  of  Night, — 

Dearer  to  a  band  of  Muses, 

Than  a  gorgeous  crown  of  light. 

ENTER  FAIRY — Morning  cometh  also  desiring  a 
token  from  the  Muses. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Bid  her  welcome  to  our  palace, 
Muses  love  to  greet  the  Morning. 

ENTER  MORNING — 

I  have  fled  away  from  the  bowers  of  Night, 
To  bathe  my  form  in  dewy  light; 
Health  and  vigor  I  bring  to  thee, 
Hast  thou  a  wakening  rhyme  for  me  ? 

MUSE  STH — 

Fair,  angelic  form  of  Morning, 
Oft  we've  met  thee  on  thy  way, 

Rosy  light  thy  brow  adorning, 
Herald  of  a  brighter  day. 

MUSE  4TH — 

Sparkling  dew-drops  deck  thy  mantle, 
Flowers  yield  thee  sweet  perfume, 

Birds  pour  forth  their  sweetest  anthems, 
When  thy  rays  their  bowers  illume. 
MUSIC. 


144  7^  Court  of  the  Muses. 

ENTER  FAIRY — Naiad  cometh,  desiring  admit- 
tance into  thy  gracious  courts. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Bid  her  enter,  if  she  bringeth 
Treasure  from  the  sparkling  tide. 

ENTER  NAIAD — 

From  the  mountain  brook,  where  the  lilies  grow, 

I  have  gathered  pebbles  bright; 
Then  borne  along  by  her  ceaseless  flow, 

Through  the  summer  lands  of  light, 
I  have  added  fairest  shells  and  pearls, 

Till  I  reached  the  boundless  sea, 
And  there  I  have  gathered  countless  gems, 

And  bring  them  all  to  thee. 

MUSE  IST — 

Thou  hast  brought  us  rare  and  precious  gems, 
•    From  the  rivulet,  brook  and  sea; 
On  the  shore  of  the  Muses'  Fairy-land, 
We  will  gather  pearls  for  thee. 

MUSE  5TH — 

These  pearls  we  will  weave  with  fancies  bright, 

In  the  graceful  form  of  rhyme; 
Which  shall  float  on  the  rolling  sea  of  thought, 

To  the  shores  of  every  clime. 

MUSE  9TH — 

We  will  tell  of  the  rubies  and  shells,  that  deck 
Thy  palace,  beneath  the  blue  sea; 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  145 

We  will  tell  of  the  beautiful  Nymphs  who  weave 
Bright  emerald  robes  for  thee. 

Attendant  Fairy  receives  the  gift. 
ENTER  FAIRY — Fashion  waiteth. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Fashion !  Fashion !  who  is  she  ? 
Bid  her  enter,  we  will  see. 

FASHION  ENTERS. 

MUSE  2D — 

Is  that  mortal  ?  is  it  human  ? 
Surely  it  can  not  be  woman  ? 

MUSE  STH — 

Fashion,  we  are  told  thy  name  is; 
Prithee,  tell  us  what  thy  claim  is  ? 


MUSE     0 — 


What  is  thy  pretended  worth, 
To  the  children  of  the  Earth  ? 


FASHION — 


I  am  ever  coming 
With  something  new, 

Giving  the  ladies 
Something  to  do; 

Now  painting  their  faces, 
With  tints  so  rare, 


146  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

Thus  making  the  plain 

And  sallow,  fair. 
I  bleach  their  hair 

To  make  it  white; 
Or  dye  it  black 

As  the  wing  of  Night; — 
If  they  are  bald 

I  soon  procure, 
And  crown  their  need 

With  a  fine  coiffure. 

What  good  do  I  do  ? 

Why,  I  venture  to  say, 
The  belles  of  the  land, 

If  they  had  their  own  way, 
Would  grieve  less  at  heart, 

Should  they  happen  to  fail 
In  the  style  of  their  beaux, 

Than  the  cut  of  their  trail; 
The  beaux  may  carouse, 

Drink,  gamble  and  swear, 
They  will  overlook  trifles, 

But  show  greatest  care 
In  the  swing  of  the  trail, 

Or  the  frizz  of  their  hair. 
The  gents  all  admire  me, 

And  that,  I  suppose, 
Is  the  reason  the  ladies 

So  dote  on  my  clothes. 
The  gents  will  laugh, 

And  the  charge  deny; 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  147 

Yet  one  can  see, 

With  but  half  an  eye, 
In  the  fit  of  the  boot, 

In  the  shape  of  the  hat, 
In  the  cut  of  the  coat, 

In  the  tie  of  cravat, 
They're  very  careful, 

All  the  while, 
To  follow  Fashion, 

And  keep  in  style. 
Of  a  stylish  wife, 

Each  man  is  vain, 
But  thinks  his  neighbor's 

Should  be  more  plain. 

What  good  do  I  do  ? 

Why  the  thought  is  absurd, 
For  you,  gracious  Muses, 

Must  surely  have  heard, 
That  we  might  as  well, 

Without  trail,  frill,  and  sash  on, 
Be  out  of  the  world, 

As  out  of  Fashion. 

MUSE  IST — 

Distorted  in  figure. 
MUSE  4TH — 

Bepowdered  in  face. 
MUSE    30 — 

Bereft  of  all  beauty. 
MUSE  5TH — 

Devoid  of  all  grace. 


148  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

MUSE  7TH — 

If  all  thy  followers 

Make  such  a  show, 
Then  out  of  the  world, 
They  might  as  well  go. 

MUSES — ALL — 

The  Muses  deny 

Thy  arrogant  claim, 
Let  "Fashion  and  Folly " 

Henceforth  be  thy  name. 

ENTER  FAIRY — Dissipation  waiteth  admittance. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Bid  her  enter,  we  shall  see 
What  her  proffered  gift  will  be. 

DISSIPATION — 

I  come,  I  come,  with  the  sparkling  wine, 
From  the  purple  fruit  of  the  cheering  vine; 
Come  drink  of  the  nectar,  I  bring  to  thee, 
Thou  surely  wilt  love  it,  and  welcome  me. 

MUSE  IST — 

"Look  not  thou  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red; 
*  *  *  At  the  last  it  biteth  like  a  serpent,  and 
stingeth  like  an  adder." 

DISSIPATION — 

Oh!  I  have  a  retinue  long  and  grand, 
Which  I  lead  to  a  beautiful,  charming  land. 


TJie  Coiirt  of  the  Muses.  149 

They  care  but  little,  and  seldom  look 
In  the  musty  pages  of  that  old  Book; 
Then  drink  and  be  merry,  drink  and  be  gay, 
Drink,  and  drive  dull  care  away. 

MUSE  3D — 

' '  Woe  unto  him  that  giveth  his  neighbor  drink. ' ' 

MUSE  7TH — 

Thou  leadest,  at  first,  through  a  charming  land, 
Yet  danger,  though  hidden,  is  there, 

For  the  brink  of  ruin  lies  just  beyond, 
And  the  valley  of  dark  despair. 

MUSE  4TH — 

"Wine  is  a  mocker;  *  *  *   Whosoever  is  de- 
ceived thereby  is  not  wise." 

DISSIPATION — 

In  Halls  of  splendor, 

I  walk  with  pride, 
With  wealth,  and  beauty, 

On  either  side. 
In  Courts  of  grandeur 

They  welcome  me, 
And  praise  the  gift, 

That  is  spurned  by  thee. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Man  may  praise  thee,  if  he  chooses, 
But  thou  canst  not  bribe  the  Muses. 

[EXIT  DISSIPATION,  HAUGHTILY.] 


150  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

ENTER  FAIRY — Temperance  cometh  also. 

MUSE  IST — 

Will  she  bring  us  gift  to  spurn  ? 

MUSES — ALL — 

Bid  her  enter,  we  will  learn. 

TEMPERANCE — 

This  Crystal  draught  from  the  wayside  spring, 

0  Muses,  is  all  the  gift  I  bring; 
Pure  as  the  sunlight,  free  as  the  air, 

1  bear  it  with  gladness,  everywhere. 

MUSES— ALL — 

Welcome,  welcome,  doubly  welcome, 
With  thy  gift,  so  pure  and  free; 

Thine  indeed  a  blessed  mission, 
And  we  gladly  honor  thee. 

MUSE  6TH — 

Sparkling  in  the  mountain  brooklet, 

Gurgling  in  the  lowly  glen, 
Dancing,  glancing,  everywhere, 
Dearer  than  Earth's  jewels  are, — 
Nature's  crowning  diadem, — 
That  is  what  you  bear. 

MUSE  4TH — 

Leaping  in  the  fountain, 
Glist'ning  in  the  dew, 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  151 

Falling  in  the  raindrops, 

Ever  fresh  and  new; 
Bounding  in  the  waterfall, 

Rolling  in  the  river, 
Telling  ever  of  the  love 

Of  a  Gracious  Giver. 


MUSE    TH  — 


It  quelleth  fever,  it  quencheth  thirst, 

It  makes  the  bud  and  the  blossom  burst, 

It  nurses  the  rootlets  underground, 

Wherever  a  living  plant  is  found; 

It  falls  from  the  heavens,  in  bountiful  shower, 

It  flows  from  deep  caverns,  with  ceaseless  power, 

It  spreadeth  the  seas,  and  the  ocean  grand, 

Which  bear  Earth's  children  to  every  land. 

MUSES  —  ALL  — 

We'll  echo  thy  praises,  again  and  again, 
Thou  bountiful  gift  to  the  sons  of  men. 

MUSIC 

Temperance  song>  in  praise  of  water. 

ENTER  FAIRY  —  Liberty  asketh  admission  to  thy 
Celestial  Court. 

MUSES  —  ALL  — 

Bid  her  enter  if  she  brings, 
Gift  as  bright  as  crown  of  kings. 


152  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

ENTER  LIBERTY — 

I  come!  I  come!  with  a  broken  chain, 

Emblem  of  torture,  and  fear,  and  pain. 

Wherever  I  go,  oppressers  flee, 

Their  shackles  are  all  unclasped  by  me. 

Hither  and  thither  I  haste  to  save 

The  fettered  king,  or  the  abject  slave. 

No  crown  I  bear,  with  jewels  rare, 

But  manhood  I  save  from  the  spoiler's  snare. 

With  heart  unfettered  I  come  to  thee, 

Hast  thou  a  song  for  the  brave  and  free  ? 

MUSES — ALL — 

Aye!  our  choicest,  sweetest  rhythms, 
We  will  gladly  give  to  thee; 
We  admire  thy  noble  bearing, 
And  we  love  the  brave  and  free. 

MUSE  QTH — 

Haste,  on  Eagle's  pinions  soaring, 
Unto  those  who,  aid  imploring, 

Long  for  thee  in  every  land; 
In  thy  mission  bright  and  glorious, 
Mayest  thou  ever  be  victorious, 

Breaking  every  tyrant's  band. 

MUSE  7TH — 

Glad  the  morning  sun  shall  meet  thee, 
And  the  stars  of  Night  shall  greet  thee, 
With  their  cheering  silver  rays; 


The  Court  of  the  Muses.  153 

Thy  loved  name  shall  live  in  story, 
Twined  with  brightest  wreaths  of  glory, 
Gemmed  with  richest  gifts  of  praise. 

MUSES  —  ALL  — 

Let  Temperance,  and  Liberty, 

Now  rally,  hand  in  hand, 
United  should  their  mission  be, 

To  every  fettered  land. 

Temperance  and  Liberty  clasp   hands,  and  are 
crowned  by  the  Muses. 

MUSE  IST  — 

The  bright  flowers  of  Spring-time 
Shall  circle  thy  brow. 

Liberty  kneels,  or  bows,  to  accept  the  wreath. 

MUSE  STH  — 

The  harvest  of  Summer, 
I  give  unto  thee. 

Temperance  receives  the  wreath  of  grain,   and 
flowers. 


MUSE  STH  — 

The  rich  fruits  of  Autumn, 
Accept  from  me  now. 

Liberty  receives  the  basket  of  fruits. 


154  The  Court  of  the  Muses. 

MUSE  30 — 

While  I  will  bestow 
The  rich  gems  of  the  sea. 

Bestowing  necklace  of  pearls,  corals,  or  shells, 
upon  both  Liberty  and  Temperance. 

Salutation  of  the  Muses,  to  which  each  Guest  in 
turn  bows  graciously  in  response. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Hail  to  the  Seasons! 
And  Morning! — and  Night! 
Graces  we  give  unto  thee. 
Hail!  to  thee,  Naiad, — 
And  Temperance  bright, 
And  Liberty,  noble  and  free. 

The  Guests  move  as  if  to  retire  from,  the  Court, 
but  are  detained. 

MUSES — ALL — 

Linger  yet;  this  happy  throng, 
Let  no  thought  of  parting  sever; 

Till  we  give  a  cheering  song, 
Wishing  Joy  and  Peace  forever. 

MUSIC. 

' '  Star  Spangled  Banner, "  or  a  song  of  general 
joyfulness. 

With  closing  line  Curtain  falls. 


LONDON  •.  OK  CO 

224  w.      ;,w 

"Male,  Calif.  912M 

Phone:  f!T  4_naoo 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  L  BRARY FACILITY 


I  III  I      II      •     ••      •• 

A  A      000279620   9 


